


an all encompassing guide on how to stop the snow from falling

by akc



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Forgiveness, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2019-12-31 07:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 83,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18306749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akc/pseuds/akc
Summary: After living quietly by himself for nearly two years, dead in the eyes of the Phantom Thieves, Akechi Goro makes the decision to step into Leblanc unprompted to face them all, unaware of the tumultuous unfolding and unfurling that will come along with it.Or, more appropriately: choices lead to a litany of other choices, and Kurusu Akira is far too naive for his own good.





	1. regenesis

**Author's Note:**

> well!  
> this is essentially a recovery/understanding how to work out the knots that come with the feelings of guilt/painful slow burn.... type fic, taking place 2 years after metaverse collapse. it's also a supremely long character study!
> 
> content warnings will be listed in the end notes, so look at those if you need to. ratings characters etc will be updated with progression.  
> thank you!

Akechi Goro has made an extremely large amount of mistakes in his forlorn little life, but this one is pretty close to the top of the charts, subjectively speaking.

It is hot today. He is wearing a plain white shirt (short sleeved) and long black pants and feels very average and plain, which is good. It’s what he is going for. In the morning he contemplated for a good ten minutes whether or not he should tie his hair back, and in the end, decided to do so. He’s glad, because there’s sweat gleaming on the back of his neck and he is sure that had he left his hair down, it would be much worse.

He sighs.

He is standing outside of Leblanc at the moment, having an internal debate with himself. The mistake mentioned earlier is the fact that he is here, in Yongenjaya, in front of this stupid cafe with his stupid clammy hands and a heart rate that would scare ER nurses. He  _ should  _ be back at his apartment in sweatpants and a t-shirt trying not to feel sorry for himself, but he isn’t.

It’s a bad idea—to do this. To see Akira again, to see Akira’s friends again, to see Sojiro again, etcetera, etcetera. He has nothing to give them; he has never had anything to give to them besides agony and irritation and probably some premature grey hairs. More than that, he doesn’t deserve to see them, doesn’t deserve—what is it he’s trying to accomplish here, disclosure?—anything from them. 

That’s what Goro tells himself, against the advice of a self-help book he once read.

For a minute he considers going back home, giving into cowardice in favor of taking a nap. He reasons with himself, though, says to himself,  _ you spent money for the train ride here, so don’t waste the money. _

Apparently that reasoning is enough for his subconscious to put his hand on the door to Leblanc and push it open. 

A charming scene unfolds before him: the ex-Phantom Thieves strewn about the cafe, and Akira standing behind the counter, a cup of coffee in his hand, extending it to Haru, who sits on one of the stools. She is smiling, laughing at some annoying joke Akira probably made, basking in the kindness he so easily has under control. Time slows down, just for a moment, when Goro sees this; his eyes are a camera and he is watching his younger self sitting at that same counter smiling and laughing in nearly the same way.

Nearly.

It irritates Goro, seeing them so happy, and he hates that this is his first emotion. He isn’t entirely surprised at it, though. Typical, typical Akechi Goro, unable to keep himself in check in even the shortest of time spans.

Well—this isn’t entirely true. Goro had great self restraint,  _ back then _ —”back then” being when he was dealing with the entire Phantom Thieves slash Shido slash Kurusu Akira mess. He could keep himself calm and collected relatively proficiently when around other people. It was more of a defense mechanism he taught himself, a way for others to find him amicable, but, well. He has no use for that mechanism, not anymore. 

Goro used to do a lot of  _ getting angry,  _ but in private: in his apartment, at night, smashing his glass of water on the ground and picking up the pieces and dreaming of maiming himself as he threw it all away into the garbage bin. Now he does a lot of  _ getting angry  _ in public—kicking benches, kicking vending machines, kicking shelves. He never means to do it, never means to yell at people and inanimate objects. It simply happens. There are a lot of things, he has come to realize, to be angry about. Even when the things are miniscule in the long run.  

His brain stops functioning as a camera and he lets the door to the cafe shut behind him with a familiar jingle. 

“Hello,” Akira says, turning his attention to the doorway, “welc—”

His eyes widen when he sees Goro standing there. The cup of coffee he holds in his long fingers falls and shatters on the ground.

_ Oh,  _ Goro thinks,  _ what am I doing here.  _

Akira just broke a cup at the simple sight of Goro’s face. Not only is that humiliating, but it’s also aggravating, and immensely upsetting, and a whole plethora of other things.

He considers saying something smug in the terrible silence that follows, but doesn’t. He simply stands there, hands folded together to stop them from shaking, staring at the room.

This isn’t like him—not knowing what to say, being unable to find even the vaguest semblance of a conversation starter. Perhaps he can’t find words because the sound of porcelain shattering is still echoing in his ears like some kind of silly omen.

Goro knows better than to think omens are real, though. Fate is not kind enough to give human beings omens of real meaningfulness. She prefers to watch and confuse instead.

“Um,” Makoto offers, “hello.”

A good start in retrospect. Goro nods and says, “Hello.”

More silence. This is ridiculous, Goro knows, particularly ridiculous on his own part for not being able to think of anything to say. He lets his arms fall by his sides and digs his nails into the flesh of his palms. 

“I imagined that this would go differently,” Goro says. The minute the words leave his mouth he wants to take them back. What  _ did _ he imagine would happen? All of the Phantom Thieves, whom Goro had so proudly declared he would kill, jumping for joy and rushing to hug him? Very funny. What a sad fantasy.

Perhaps he imagined that there would be more panicked pandemonium and less awkward silence. Perhaps he imagined to be kicked out of Leblanc immediately.

These stupid, stupid Phantom Thieves and their unpredictableness that Goro absolutely hates.

Ryuji, thankfully, is the first to give some sort of actual conversation starter, though it isn’t a pleasant one. “We thought you died, man,” he says rather incredulously, holding a popsicle in one hand. 

From the corner of his eye, Goro watches Akira clean up the porcelain and coffee on the ground. He seems to be taking his sweet time with it. 

“Unfortunately not,” Goro says.

Ryuji’s eyes widen a bit at the response. 

Goro hates this. He hates himself for coming here, because he hadn’t realized how impactful his presence would be, somehow. After all, he’s been dead in the eyes of the Phantom Thieves for the past year and a half, and now he is standing before them, definitely alive. 

This is a recurring problem Goro has: he impulsively maps out a plan in his head and doesn’t consider the consequences of said plan until something bad happens. It seems meticulous, all the thinking he does, but there’s always one detail he misses. Case in point: attempting to take down all of the Thieves by himself. One person against eight—nine if he counts his cognitive double.  

Yesterday was the day he made the decision to “visit” Leblanc. It took a lot of pacing around his apartment and hair pulling. Even at the time, it felt like a bad idea, but the part in him that still aches for love and freedom and whatever else good there is overwhelmed the rest of him. He wishes he hadn’t listened to it. No good seems to ever come from listening to it.

But, well. There isn’t any way to go back now.

“How did you make it out?” Ann asks, leaning forward a little. She looks much, much older now.

“I don’t remember,” Goro says, and it’s true. He has no idea what happened. “One day I woke up, laying in the park. It was April. I don’t know where I was in the months between then and December, but I don’t particularly care.”

He looks at Akira, who is deftly avoiding eye contact and making more coffee. Oh, to feign obliviousness. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re not dead, Akechi-kun,” Ann says in that kind way of hers that makes Goro want to peel his skin off. “What did you do after you woke up?”

“Actually, that local doctor found me lying under a tree,” he says. “Takemi-san. I’m sure you know her. She was very nice and took me back to her clinic and treated me and made sure I didn’t kill myself.”

More silence. Goro forgets that they aren’t supremely used to him speaking this way.

“I apologize,” he says tersely. This isn’t going well. He wishes a beam would fall from the ceiling and crush him.

Futaba still hasn’t looked at him. She is petting Morgana, back to Goro on the stool she is sitting on, shoulders visibly tense. Haru hasn’t looked at him either, and that’s fine, it’s fine, it happens. They’re allowed to feel however they want.

Goro hums.

He goes over potential courses of action in his head. He could leave, obviously, wave a stupid goodbye and never come back and live with this experience on his shoulders until his inevitable young death; he could also properly apologize, but something inside of him is afraid to do that. He is worried they won’t accept an apology, which is fair, Goro knows this—but he still can’t bring himself to do it. He can’t face rejection from any of them, not yet.

Besides that, an apology seems pathetic and immature. Elementary.  _ Sorry I tried to kill all of you  _ doesn’t really carry as much weight as it should; there’s no way to apologize for that using any phrasing in any language.

“Here,” Akira says suddenly, voice cutting through the silence. He places a (new) cup of coffee in front of Haru, and then another at the spot Goro used to normally sit at. “Have a seat.”   
Goro looks at the rest of the group, then Akira, mouth slightly contorted, and waits a moment just in case someone interjects and tells him to leave. Nobody does, though; instead they simply stare quietly. The tension is unbearable. 

A this point, it would be foolish for Goro to leave, so he sits down and looks at the coffee. He entertains the idea that Akira poisoned it, that he and the rest of his friends had an elaborate plan to kill him would he ever come back into their lives.

“It’s just coffee, Akechi,” Akira says, breaking Goro’s train of thought. “You don’t need to scrutinize it.”

“I… I know.” Goro frowns and drinks. It tastes familiar, as indicated by a wave of sadness that hits him like a magnetic field. It’s definitely smoother; clearly Akira has improved his technique. “Thank you,” he says. It comes off sounding more like he is thanking someone for saving a drowning animal than thanking someone for a cup of coffee.

“Is it good?” Akira asks with an irritating level of casualness. “I might have put too much sugar in it.”

“It’s good,” Goro says, examining the cup. It isn’t shaped the way he remembers the cups to be shaped. Sojiro must have bought new ones. 

It makes Goro sad. He pinches his thigh to focus on something else. This is getting stupider.

It’s also far too much emotion at once. Coming here has done nothing for him so far. He doesn’t know what he expected. There is so much bullshit extraneous noise going on inside his head that it’s difficult to keep track of what is happening right in front of him.

Goro tilts his head and stares at the  _ Sayuri  _ painting in lieu of having to make more conversation. He traces different parts of the painting with his eyes, counts to one hundred as he does so—anything to distance himself from Leblanc. If he tries really hard, he might be able to make it feel as though he isn’t here at all.

Even the place he’s found most comfort in has become a temporary prison. How heart-break-ing.

The rest of the Thieves break back into conversation, pretending Goro isn’t there at all, which is just fine by him. Preferable, actually. It’s a bit bizarre that they haven’t booted him out yet. Everything that has happened thus far is a bit bizarre, actually; perhaps more appropriately a bit disorienting. 

Goro is underestimating their capacity for kindness once again.

Although, because of the reaction they’re having, Goro feels as though he isn’t in Leblanc at all. His body is separated from his brain, or something; he knows that he  _ is  _ in fact sitting in Leblanc drinking this cup of coffee that tastes like a warmth he has never quite been able to permanently obtain, but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels—like he isn’t anywhere, like a purgatory, almost. Like he’s in a limbo between two worlds that don’t know what to do with him. 

Incredibly unfortunate and unlucky, really.

But Goro supposes that’s how it is with him: put on a planet just to be toyed with, just for a puppeteer to play around with like he’s a prototype for something more stable to come. Everything good seems to always be only ever so slightly out of reach—if he had longer legs, arms, if he could find a loophole, he could lean forward enough to grasp it. 

Akira was always dangling right in front of him, so close, so willing to reach out, but Goro kept retracting. No steps forward, all steps back.

Perhaps a better way to think of it is that Goro was the one dangling, constricted by chains, and the more he ached to reach, the tighter the constraints became. Or something equally as tragic. 

_ Sayuri’s  _ face contorts into a grimace as Goro stares at it. He blinks and it returns to the watchful mother it is supposed to be.

Once Goro surpasses counting to one hundred, he decides to keep going, to one thousand. He’s in a bit of a predicament: it seems too rude to leave suddenly, but why still be concerned with appearances around these people? They have seen him at his very, very worst. It shouldn’t matter what he says or does—within reason, obviously—because there’s nothing that can surpass attempting murder and then sealing himself behind a massive metal door out of inexplicable guilt.

It’s stupid, really. Thinking about it makes Goro  _ feel _ stupid, makes him want to leave even more. Sitting here idly isn’t occupying his brain enough, and when his brain isn’t occupied enough he thinks about himself, and when Goro thinks about himself, he— 

“Akechi,” a voice says. Goro looks away from  _ Sayuri _ and to the direction of the voice, which happens to belong to Akira. 

He had counted to five hundred and six seconds.

Akira places another cup of coffee in front of him. “You seem distant,” he says. “You can read one of my books there, if you want.”

So polite of Akira to act neutral towards Goro despite the obvious discontent in his eyes. 

Goro  _ is _ distant. He is distancing himself from Leblanc on purpose; he is trying to mentally remove himself from the cafe and project his consciousness into some other realm, trying to disconnect it from his physical body. It was working until Akira interrupted his counting and shot him back down to Earth.

That’s a terrible coping mechanism anyway. It’s best to do that when he is home, by himself, as that’s when there truly isn’t much to distract himself with.

Goro sighs quietly.

He still can’t seem to think up a reason as to why he had come here other than his own impulsivity, nativity, the works. Perhaps that annoying hopeful part of him that really needs to stay permanently silent was imagining something sweet and movie-like to happen where the Thieves all welcome him back with streamers and open arms and invite him to the arcade. 

He knew that wouldn’t happen, though. He reasons he had come because of his tendency to inflict misfortune upon himself. 

Still, though—because he hasn’t thought up a good way to say goodbye so he can go home and pull himself together, he must continue to sit. The Thieves probably think he’s gone braindead, what with the way he’s been sitting at the counter and staring at the wall for half an hour.  _ Maybe I am braindead,  _ Goro thinks sullenly. 

Why is everyone acting so normally?

For lack of anything better to do, he picks a book out from the few that are in front of him. He chooses  _ The Setting Sun  _ which he has read multiple times before and flips to a random page.

Every now and then Akira wordlessly refills his coffee and then goes back to whatever other conversation he is having. It feels like high school and Goro doesn’t know what to think about that.

Goro is nearly done with the book when someone firmly places their hand on his shoulder. He nearly jumps out of his skin. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Akira says, stifling a laugh. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to tell you that everyone left. You can stop pretending you aren’t here now.”

The implication of that last bit leaves a funny taste in Goro’s mouth. It’s as if Akira is trying to say that because it’s only the two of them, he can act however he wants, or something. Goro could laugh.

He furrows his brows and scans the room. “When did they all leave?”

“About fifteen minutes ago, maybe. Nobody wanted to… disturb you, while you were reading.”

Ha. Nice way of saying  _ they didn’t want to talk to you.  _

Which is fine, for now, forever. Goro doesn’t know what he’s doing. His critical thinking skills have apparently been thrown out the window.

Akira must have adapted the ability to read minds in the time Goro was gone, though, because then he says, “If you think they didn’t say goodbye because they didn’t want to talk to you, you’re free to think that all you want. Just know that that isn’t true, because Ann wanted to say goodbye, but Yusuke told her to give you space. It was out of consideration.” He puts his hands on his hips as if to punctuate the statement.

Goro doesn’t know what to say. These people and their ridiculous capacity for kindness are just—baffling. 

Akira takes a seat on the stool next to Goro and plucks the book from his hands. Goro grabs for it, half assed, then sighs and slumps over the counter. In retrospect, he should have anticipated that Akira would bug him, but all he had envisioned in his mind was to be immediately leave the cafe, go home, never come back, etcetera. It’s been at least an hour, though, since Goro has arrived, and these things have yet to occur.

“Interesting choice,” Akira says, waving the book around. “World War II and family stuff, right? I never finished reading it. My mom gave it to me as a ‘gift’ when I went back home.”

“That’s a simple way of summarizing the plot,” Goro mumbles, tapping his index finger against the countertop. “And a rather hilarious gift.”

The last gift Goro’s mother had given him was a taketombo. He lost it shortly after she died. 

“I tried to be appreciative of it anyway. We hadn’t said anything to each other for an entire year and I think she forgot that I have a personality. Also—” He waves the book around more, “—I’m a simple kind of person.” He grins and hands the book over.

Goro takes it, more or less just to give his hands something to do. “That really isn’t true whatsoever,” he says, slightly irritated at the fact that Akira considers himself  _ simple.  _ Simple is a drop of water and Akira is an entire lake. Perhaps an ocean. The Red Sea and the Dead Sea. 

“What’s really not true whatsoever?” Akira asks with a head tilt.

Oh, Goro can  _ feel  _ an aneurysm forming. The blood flow in his brain is picking up speed quickly, and if it continues moving at the pace it is right now, Goro is positive that the pressure will kill him right here in Leblanc. Sojiro wouldn’t be happy at all.

“You’re not simple at all,” he grits. “You just act like you are. Other people act like you are.” Maybe a better way to put it is that Akira acts like he is simple, thinks he is simple, and other people act like he is simple, but know that he is not. Goro hopes that Akira’s friends are perceptive enough to see that, at least.

“It’s barely been two hours and you’re already psychoanalyzing me. So very detective of you,” Akira jokes, shifting in his seat. 

Goro is going to need BETA blockers by the end of this conversation. He isn’t sure why he’s so irritated by all of this, but then again, it seems that everything irritates him these days, those days, etcetera. 

“First, detectives don’t psychoanalyze people. That’s reserved for psychologists and psychiatrists and whomever else you’d like to include in that field. Second—I’m not a detective anymore. Clearly. And I likely won’t be one ever again.” 

He closes  _ The Setting Sun  _ and places it back into its respective spot.

“Well, sorry for my mislabeling. Next time you call me complicated I’ll make sure I use the right terminology in my response.” 

“How can you be so calm?” Goro asks, finally turning his head to make eye contact. 

Akira makes a face. His eyes are less grey than they were in the interrogation room. “What do you mean?”

“Will you stop replying to everything I ask with another question?” Goro snaps, immediately regretting the words that fall out his mouth. He sighs. “You know exactly what I mean. You are remarkably composed, even sitting next to me. You’re…” he waves his hand around, “...making jokes.”

“I don’t see why I wouldn’t be calm. Although, I’m not sure if that’s the word I would use to describe how I’m feeling right now. Personally.” Pause. “And I always…” Akira waves his hands around in mockery, “...make jokes.”

“I appreciate your attempts to lie, but I’d much prefer you being honest right now,” Goro says. “Don’t worry about sparing my feelings.”

Akira stands and walks around the counter and into the kitchen. “I’m not trying to spare your feelings, Akechi,” he says, opening up the fridge. “I’m calm right now because I have full confidence that you aren’t going to kill me. I can be calm and cautious  _ and  _ nice at the same time, you know. And in case you forgot, I  _ did  _ break a cup when you walked into the door.”

“Oh, right.” Goro’s face falls. “I can pay for that, if you—”

“No, it’s fine. It was chipped anyway.” He pulls out various ingredients from the fridge before half disappearing back into the kitchen again. “Anyway—I am calm, somewhat, but I wasn’t when you walked in, and you weren’t either, because I’ve never seen you act so… reserved. And I’ve seen you act a lot of ways. You’ve also talked my ear off more than once.”

Goro rolls his eyes. “All right, you’ve made your point. Are we not going to address the elephant in the room? The fact that I—”

“Hush,” Akira says, peeking out from the kitchen. He menacingly points a wooden spoon at Goro. “I’m making you food. We can talk about it afterward. Read your book or look at  _ Sayuri  _ some more.”

Akira is insufferable, Goro decides. This incredibly annoying act of indifference is making Goro feel, emotionally, like the size of an ant. More than that, it’s also making him feel incredibly halfwitted for a variety of reasons. 

He isn’t in the mood to argue, though, so he opens up the book again and reads.

Fake reads, anyway. His eyes keep drifting to the kitchen where Akira, who must be on an entirely different level of fool tonight, is making Goro food. Akira is making food for his attempted murderer. Food for Goro. Food for thought. He has also given him multiple cups of coffee and made no mention of payment for it. Thinking about it, Goro isn’t sure if he ever paid the rest of his tab back in—back two years ago. Maybe it’s hung up on a wall somewhere like a dartboard. 

Goro hates Akira, metaphorically. He cannot and does not  _ actually _ hate Akira, as Morgana had so righteously pointed out. What he does hate is that Akira has some gene inside of him that lets him be open and genial even in situations that warrant the complete opposite. Akira should be throwing packets of salt at Goro, not taking the time to make him a meal. He should be angry, not so relaxed, not so  _ Akira.  _ For once.

Maybe it bothers Goro because he could never be like that. He can  _ feign _ it, of course—but only on the surface. Goro can put on a smile and dance and make himself think he understands his own feelings, but that’s just about as far as it can go. Akira, however, seems so…  _ in control  _ of his emotions; he is genuinely calm, loath as Goro is to admit it. Either that or he is one of the best actors in all of Japan.

So frustrating.

It isn’t like Goro doesn’t have the capacity to be kind, though. He knows that he does, underneath all the cement he’s covered himself up with. He just needs to find a reason to uncover it.

He puts down the book and rubs his eyes hard enough to see black spots. Akira is a reason to uncover the cement, he knows he is. It’s unfortunate that after today, though, he can’t ever see Akira again. This is a one time thing, that’s what Goro promised himself the minute he left his apartment earlier today. This is just to—prove something to himself. He doesn’t know what it is, exactly, but it’s  _ something.  _

This whole escapade was supposed to make him feel better. Apparently not.

After a short while Akira places two plates of curry at one of the booths. He vaguely gestures at Goro to sit across from him, and then settles down on the seat facing the door with a  _ hmph  _ sound.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t make it very spicy,” Akira says as Goro sits down. “Because you’re  _ sensitive  _ to that, if I remember correctly.”

“Please shut up,” Goro says, keeping his eyes focused down on the food. It smells wonderful. Maybe if he tries really hard he can eat it without feeling guilty.

That’s extremely wishful thinking. He takes a bite.

“It’s good,” he says, because it is. Goro could probably put a little more effort into the compliment than that, but he doesn’t have the willpower to think up something snappy and charming. 

“Glad to hear,” Akira says through a mouth of food. “I assumed so because you didn’t freak out this time and run away like you did at the school festival.”

Goro puts his head in his hands and sighs. Akira gives a rather hearty laugh.

“I’m glad you find pleasure in my misery,” he says, voice muffled. 

Goro is becoming increasingly concerned for his own mental health as well as Akira’s. Here they are, pretending there has never been an issue between the two of them, joking about high school like they’re two childhood friends in an movie that have reunited at a bar after a decade of not seeing one another. 

Which, to be fair, isn’t  _ that _ far off from their situation.

“So,” Akira says after a moment, and Goro’s fist clenches at the tone of his voice, “Takemi, huh?”

“She’s far too generous for her own good. She refused to let me pay for the time I stayed with her, which, mind you—was at least a good five months. I don’t remember exactly.” Pause. “Although she did say that I looked like a sewage creature when she found me, so perhaps that’s payment enough in her doctoral world.”

“I’m not surprised at either of those things,” Akira mumbles. He crosses his legs underneath the table and his shoe hits Goro’s knee in the process.

“I was quite a pain, honestly. At least, looking at myself from an outsider’s perspective, I think that I was a pain. Constant… monitoring, and all that. I wasn’t very happy to be found and it was disorienting as well.” He sighs, wants to say,  _ and now I have a lot of burns on my chest and a bullet hole shaped scar near my ribs  _ but doesn’t. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I also don’t know why she helped me in the first place.”

“Hm.” Akira sniffles. “She’s just the type to do that, I think. She’s the type to do that under certain circumstances, anyway, which I guess you fit.”

“Certain circumstances,” Goro repeats. “Such as?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her? She’s done something similar before.”

“Perhaps one day.”

In the time that Goro stayed with Takemi, he hadn’t taken the time to  _ get to know her.  _ Granted, getting to know his provisional doctor was the last thing on his mind at that time, so Takemi probably doesn’t harbor many negative feelings toward Goro in that respect. He hopes so, at least. 

A long beat of silence passes between the two of them. Goro thinks about Takemi again. He should—send her something nice, like flowers or medical masks; he isn’t sure what doctors like. If he really wanted to, Goro could go see her right now, considering that her clinic is just around the corner. It’s probably still open.

Truthfully, though, he doesn’t want to see her—not yet. Takemi had put up with such a terrible, pitiful version of Goro that he would much like to forget about. He needs to get the rest of his bearings together before he sees her, whatever those bearings may be. 

“Akechi,” Akira says quietly, breaking his thought, “why did you come here?”

Goro imagines the curry suddenly growing into a monster and eating him. 

“I don’t know,” he says. Akira gives him a doubtful look. “I’m being truthful. I was trying to think up a reason the whole time I was sitting at the counter but couldn’t come up with anything adequate.” He sighs, tapping the end of his spoon against the table. “If you want an unsatisfactory answer, it’s partially because I was curious.”

“Partially?”

“Yes, partially.”

Akira inspects his palms like they will tell him what to say next. Goro hopes they don’t tell him anything, because he really needs to be leaving. This is starting to get a bit excessive; next Akira is going to pull out a cake and ask Goro to stay for dessert. 

It was interesting, stopping by Leblanc. Interesting seeing the slight differences in all of the Thieves’ bodies and personalities that came with the passage of time. Goro missed the coffee too, and the uncomfortableness of the stools.

Of course, he really can’t come back. He’s allowing himself to visit just this once, just to see, just to make the tugging feeling around his heart go away. He can’t give himself anything else. It’s unfair to Akira and everyone else for Goro to jump back into their lives and impose on their routines. 

More than that, Goro doesn’t deserve their kindness and blah blah blah. He’s gone over this self deprecating monologue in his head dozens of times. Now that he’s been to Leblanc he needs to get back to his life. 

A part of him doesn’t want to. Being lonely is so—hard. It’s all he’s ever known, for the first part, but it always hurts when he walks into his empty quiet apartment with his empty quiet rooms and empty quiet belongings.  

He clears his throat, not wanting to think about it much longer, although he knows that once he’s on the train he’s going to cry. That’s all right, though. This is entirely his own doing and he has to deal with it. 

That’s another thing he read in a self-help book.

“Kurusu, I—”

“Where do you live now?” Akira interrupts. 

“Um.” Goro crosses his arms. “Fifteen minutes outside of Shibuya.”

“By yourself?”

“Yes,” Goro says, wondering if Akira only said that to make him admit he’s lonely. “Do you still live here? Upstairs, I mean.”

“Oh, no. I live with Ann and Ryuji in an apartment in Akihabara.”

That’s interesting. He cannot imagine the rent. “How? Don’t you—you’re not twenty yet, you can’t sign the lease.”   
“My parents signed it,” Akira says, standing up and collecting their plates and spoons in a rather impressive swoop.

Goro shrinks further into the seat and tightens his crossed arms. “Lucky you.”

Akira either genuinely does not hear this or pretends that he doesn’t hear. He fumbles around in the kitchen a bit, cleaning up the plates and putting away a few miscellaneous items that were left out on the counter. Goro takes this moment to gather his things together and prepares to say goodbye; he rehearses it in his head a few times to ensure that it goes as smoothly as possible. If his voice even so much as wobbles, he swears he’s going to wring his own neck, right in front of Akira.

“Well,” he starts, “thank you f—”

“Do you want to see the attic?” Akira interjects again, hands folded sweetly behind his back. He’s definitely doing this on purpose now.

Goro should say no, really. He should say no and go home and then sit on his bed and wish he never saw Kurusu Akira today. But he probably won’t.

At first, he thought coming to Leblanc would help him. He thought it would put him at ease and quell his curiosity. He thought this on the train ride to Yongenjaya and thought this just until he was standing in front of the cafe a few hours ago. What a foolish idea.

Only when he saw Akira’s face did he know he made a mistake. 

When Goro was a teenager he didn’t cry. He never cried, with the exception of a few times. It wasn’t in him to cry; the only things inside of him were anger and desperation ( _ ha! _ ) and the urge to jump in front of the trains at the station. He didn’t cry when he killed someone, didn’t cry when he went to sleep by himself, didn’t cry when he woke up from dreams of his mother slitting her throat as she held him in her arms and cooed  _ Goro, Goro, my sweet son.  _

He didn’t cry.

He cries now, though, quite a lot. And he hates it. Crying makes him feel sickly—makes him throw up and makes his nose bleed because of the fervity at which it hits him. Little things set him off and Goro  _ despises  _ how weak and helpless he feels  _ all the time _ . He is twenty but feels more like a child than he ever has in his entire life and it’s stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

Looking at Akira makes him want to cry. Looking at this attic is going to make him cry.

“Sure,” he says anyway, because living is a disease and a joke and etcetera. 

Akira leads him up the stairs and into the attic. There isn’t a bed anymore, just a bunch of boxes in its place. It’s been thoroughly cleaned out, actually—not so many cobwebs, not so much dust. The terrible, old television is still there, though, and so is that gross couch. Goro assumes it’s gross, from the stains. He never sat on it himself.

The attic is quiet. Goro can hear the wind. 

“Kurusu,” Goro mumbles, frozen in place, “why was everyone so calm when they saw me?”

Akira looks up at the ceiling in thought before saying, “I think you just rendered them speechless.”

Goro can’t tell if that’s an honest answer or if he’s making a joke and decides to not comment any further. He stares at the attic wall—so sticky and humid today—and thinks about how strange the passage of time is. This attic he once knew is now an attic he doesn’t know.

“Akechi, can we—can I have your phone number?” Akira suddenly asks. He’s looking at a bag of soil sitting in the corner of the room.

Goro doesn’t say anything, only laughs a bit.  _ Funny.  _ This isn’t what he wanted to happen. He was supposed to come in, make his presence known, have one coffee if Akira would let him, leave, and then regret coming. Some of those things happened, but not all, and not in that particular order either. 

Now Akira is asking him for his phone number.  _ To stay in contact.  _

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Goro says.

“If you were expecting to just waltz in and waltz out of here and give no sign of your existence for the rest of your life, you must have another thing coming,” Akira says sternly, turning away from the soil bag. “And don’t tell me you don’t deserve to see me, or us, or any of that, because I don’t really want to hear it right now. I’m not trying to dismiss your feelings because they’re obviously hurting you, but just—another time. Listen to me for once.” 

Goro’s eyes widen at the sudden shift in Akira’s demeanor. He hadn’t expected him to react like this, but that seems to be a pattern today: nobody reacting the way they should, Goro himself included. It’s starting to become a bit comical.

He decides to be honest, partially because he can’t think up a feasible excuse to decline and partially because he wants to see how much he can rile up Akira. “I have to admit that I was thinking exactly all those things.”

“That’s funny.” Akira folds his arms. “Do you think this is just about you? You can’t expect me—everyone else too—to be unaffected after you walk in here. I hate phrasing it this way, but you’re selfish if you assume the best thing for me is if you never appeared ever again.”

Goro’s lip curls up, because what Akira has said is spot on and Goro doesn’t like how easily he is able to point it out.

He only considered the possibility of Akira wanting Goro to stay out of his life, not in. He isn’t completely sure  _ why  _ Akira would want him to stay, but perhaps he can pry that out of him, someday. Or perhaps not. It really isn’t a good idea for them to stay in contact with one another, is it? It’s not. It’s not.

Goro doesn’t want to hurt Akira. He doesn’t want to exist as a reminder of betrayal and certainly doesn’t want to be an added stressor. But—considering it now, no matter what course of action Goro takes from this point forward, they all will have some element of stress attached. 

This is such a mess.

“I’m sorry,” he says lamely. 

Akira sighs and steps away from the soil bag. “Can I please have your phone number?” he asks earnestly, and it makes Goro flinch. “I want to see you again, to talk.”

“Why?”

“I know that your empathy level is lower than the average human being, but understand that your death sat on my shoulders like a— like a boulder _ — _ until you walked in the door today. The way I saw it, back then—was that you died because of me. You died because I couldn’t save you, or help you, or whatever, however fucked up that may be considering the circumstances. And I’m sorry if me saying this makes you seem like you were helpless. That’s not what I’m implying. You—I mean, you thought the only way you could fix things would be by dying. Sorry if I’m wrong in that assumption.”

Goro fantasizes about hanging himself from the beam above him. Akira isn’t wrong. “Excuse me for my emotional stuntedness.”

“Sorry,” Akira mumbles. “I don’t want to talk about this now, I didn’t mean to bring that up.” He removes his glasses and rubs his face with a hand before putting them back on. “I didn’t mean to get all aggravated.”

“You can have my phone number,” Goro says too quickly. The words tumble out from his mouth without being prompted to. “I’d like to apologize again. I shouldn’t have… assumed that I knew what was best for you.” He still doesn’t understand it, still doesn’t know what he’s doing or why he is going to torture himself with this, but apologizes anyway. 

Things just seem to happening on their own, undirected, without Goro asking them to. Maybe he can still wiggle his way out of this somehow.

They exchange numbers.

Akira leads him downstairs and offers to walk him to the train station, explaining that he needs to stay at Leblanc for a little while longer so he won’t be getting on it. The setting sun casts orange shades onto the buildings and stretches Goro and Akira’s shadows across the ground and the walls like portraits.

It’s a nice moment of quiet, Goro has to admit. Just the sun and footsteps and a strange, familiar presence. Not that he would say any of this aloud—this wasn’t supposed to happen. Goro should be walking to the train station by himself, should be feeling a completely different way than he is right now, but he isn’t. Once again his plans have gone completely and utterly off course, and it’s all Goro’s own fault. 

“I’ll see you,” Akira says once they’re at the station. “Right?”

“Right.” Goro considers extending his hand for a handshake but isn’t sure if that’s too businesslike and opts against it. He has no idea what’s acceptable and what isn’t between he and Akira but supposes that as long as he is reasonable with boundaries and standing distance that it can work.

“We can talk about… the stuff, eventually,” Akira adds. “Just not now. Akechi, I want to... get to know you a little before we talk about all that. You know, like a temporary blank slate. The real Akechi.”

“That’s all right with me,” Goro says, and he can’t tell if he’s being honest or not. His brain isn’t functioning properly. 

“I want to make up for lost time,” Akira says, quietly this time. Goro can’t take the solemn facial expression he has when he says this and pretends to look at the train schedule. 

“If that’s what you want,” he says vaguely, clenching and unclenching his fist.

Akira smiles—a real one, then—and reaches out to Goro but then retracts his hand. “I’ll see you,” he says. Goro offers him a smile as he turns away.

He’s realized what has just happened all at once.

* * *

**[2:09 AM] Kurusu Akira:** do you want to go fishing this weekend?  
**[2:13 AM] Me:** Fishing  
**[2:13 AM] Kurusu Akira:** yes, fishing  
**[2:13 AM] Kurusu Akira:** it won’t be boring  
**[2:13 AM] Kurusu Akira:** why are you awake?  
**[2:14 AM] Me:** Why are you awake?  
**[2:14 AM] Kurusu Akira:** touche  
**[2:14 AM] Kurusu Akira:** sooo do you want to or not  
**[2:20 AM] Me:** Sure. But please have low expectations

* * *

Goro is going fishing today, apparently. A lot of mental preparation has had to go into the lead up to this.

He’s staring into his closet. He has never gone fishing before, and therefore has no idea what he should wear. It’s not like Akira’s going to take him into the marshes and make him wear huge rubber boots and catch fish with nets, right? He should be fine to wear anything within reason.

It doesn’t take him long to get ready after he picks out clothes (a very light blue t-shirt, brown pants). He gathers a few things he thinks he might need—wallet, waterbottle, and so on—and heads for the train station.  

Akira is waiting for him outside, fanning himself with a flyer. It’s even hotter today than it was last time they saw each other; Goro can feel the heat weighing down on him like tarp. He wipes his brow with his forearm and grimaces at the sweat gleam that is left in its wake.

“Hey,” Akira says, continuing to fan himself. “You look nice in blue.”

That catches Goro thoroughly off guard. Insteading of saying thank you, he says, “I’ve worn blue before.”

“Don’t tell me you’re talking about that nerdy argyle sweater,” Akira laughs, starting to walk. 

“It was  _ not _ nerdy,” Goro says, terribly offended.

“Oh, it wasn’t? What was it, then?”

“Comfortable,” he settles for, which is true. He liked that sweater. 

They fall into a normal pace for a bit. Goro has no idea where this fishing hole is, nor did he know that it existed, truthfully—but it’s both an excuse to get out of his apartment and an excuse to try and pick at Akira’s brain a little more and see what he’s thinking about all  _ this.  _ Though there is the possibility that Akira won’t tell him anything, considering he was so adamantly speaking about “getting to know” Goro a few days ago. Besides that, Akira isn’t really the type of person to reveal his more personal inner thoughts very often anyway.

Once again, Goro has no idea what he’s doing with himself. The lack of control he has on his life is extremely frustrating and entirely his own fault.

Though—Goro could have declined Akira’s invitation to spend time with him. It’s not like Akira is holding him against his will. Goro made this decision entirely on his own, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

They make it to the fishing spot shortly. It isn’t very crowded—whether it be because of the hot weather or because only certain people find fishing fun, Goro doesn’t know. He watches in a mix of awe and shock as Akira gets poles and bait for the two of them. It appears that he completely knows what he is doing.

They sit down on the dock. Akira takes his shoes off and sets them down while he—what is he doing?—plays around with the ferrules or something.

“Here,” he says, handing over a rod. “Do you know how to use it?”

Goro deadpans. “Do I look like the kind of person that knows how to fish?” 

Akira laughs at that. “Not particularly, no, but I just wanted to make sure.” He fiddles with his own fishing rod for a short moment before asking, “Do I look like the type of person who knows how to fish?”

Goro considers the question. He looks at Akira and his solid green shirt and blue jeans that are torn at the knee, his shoeless feet, and his sweaty forehead and wonders what constitutes someone to look like they fish. 

“Yes,” he decides. “You do.”

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Are you going to show me how to use this thing or not?” Goro asks, waving around the fishing rod like it doesn’t have a huge hook at the end of it and the potential to poke someone’s eye out.

“Just… watch what I do,” Akira says slowly, putting his hand on Goro’s arm to stop him from waving. The touch makes him flinch. 

After some apt observation Goro flings his line out into the water. All he can do now is  _ wait until you get a bite and pull it in with the reel,  _ as Akira had explained. 

The heat continues to bore down. It’s midday, so there isn’t much chance of the weather becoming more bearable anytime soon. Goro pauses ten minutes into waiting to balance the fishing rod between his knees and tie back his hair.

“It’s gotten longer,” Akira says as he picks the rod back up. “Your hair has, I mean.”

“I know.” Pause. “Does it look bad?”

“No, it looks fine. Just different. But in a good way.”

Goro hums. He’s glad it doesn’t look bad, though he doesn’t really have any way of discerning whether Akira was being truthful or whether he was only saying that to be an appeaser. Either way, Goro has no plans to cut his hair shorter in the near or distant future. He wants to stay away from having short hair.

He had short hair, once, when he was just barely ten. His foster mother said he looked like a homeless boy and chopped a bunch of it off in the bathroom. It wasn’t a fond memory.

Besides that, long hair acts as a mask to Goro in some sense. It covers his external self in an ambiguous way that makes him seem more charming and soft than he really is. He has been told that when he pulls it back it makes him look older, more mature, and doesn’t know how to feel about that.

He stares into the water.

It’s the weekend, and he’s sitting on a dock fishing with Akira, who, not long ago, Goro was fated to kill. It’s the weekend, and Goro is fishing with Akira, a choice he made to do out of his own volition. It’s the weekend, and he’s fishing with Akira, Joker, leader, etcetera, and has no idea why. Just a few days ago Akira thought he was dead, and just a few days ago Goro didn’t think this is where he would end up.

“What do you do?” Akira asks after a few more minutes of silence pass.

“What do you mean, ‘what do you do?’” 

“I mean, do you work anywhere?”

“Oh.” He should have expected that question. “I work in Jinbocho.” 

“Do you like it there?” This is the opposite of what Goro was going for: Akira, getting answers out of him about his personal life and not the other way around. In retrospect, talking about jobs isn’t the deepest of subjects, but it still bothers him.

“It’s all right,” he says, swinging his feet. “It’s a lot of checking stock.”   
Akira winces. “That makes it sound boring.”

“It isn’t b—it’s a little boring. It’s quiet there, though, so a lot of the time I just end up sitting around and reading. I know a wide variety of things on a wide variety of subjects now, such as mathematical practices, medical ethics, interior design in North America, card tricks—”

“Card tricks?”

“Yes, multiple card tricks. I’m very multifaceted, as I’m sure you know.” 

“I can imagine you sitting on a stool at the back of some dusty bookstore with—”

“—Kurusu,” Goro says suddenly, unthinkingly gripping the other’s forearm and surprising himself when he does so, “I think there’s a fish.”

He’ll have to ask Akira to finish his statement later on.

Akira scrambles to put his fishing rod on the deck, which is unnecessary because Goro has two hands and can reel it in himself but, well. Apparently catching a fish for the first time is the type of thing that requires complete attention from all parties.

“Okay, you have to—you have to reel it in a little, then give it some slack if you need to, and pull the rod up some when it gets closer and then drop it down a bit and—”   
“—you sound like a mariner,” Goro interrupts as he attempts to follow these guidelines. It doesn’t  _ feel  _ like a heavy fish, and so he assumes he’ll be able to pull it in no problem.

Assumes. Assuming has always been a problem for Akechi Goro.

Suddenly the fish starts tugging harder at the line, and his reel goes all wonky. “What the fuck,” Goro hisses, yanking the fishing rod hard upward. 

“It won’t help if you start getting all aggressive,” Akira says, extending his hand. “Let me—”

“I can do it myself!” Goro shouts, surely gandering a few head turns from the people around him. “It’s just a  _ fish,  _ why is it so—so—”

“Strong? Muscular? Athletic?” Akira offers, hand still outstretched, hovering just next to the reel.

“—so stupid!” is the adjective Goro decides to go with. He knows, deep down, that he is not going to win against this fish just by flailing around, but at the same time, he refuses to let Akira reel in a fish  _ for him.  _ It’s a fish, for god’s sake. A hardy one at that; it’s a wonder how it’s still hooked.

“Calm down,” Akira says, frustration evident in his voice. “Are you even listening to me? You’re making a huge scene.”

Goro opens his mouth to argue but realizes that there isn’t anything to argue about. He’s getting worked up over a fish and people are looking.

The fact that people are looking, though, only serves to make him more determined to reel in this stupid thing. He straightens his back out, repositions his hands, and tries again. Akira is mumbling something about the best way to angle the blah blah blah but Goro isn’t paying attention. Right now, the entire world is this fish.

To his own surprise, he is able to reel it in. 

He grabs it with his bare hand once it’s out of the water. “It’s mine,” he whispers, then immediately lets go when it wiggles. 

“I can’t say I’ve ever seen someone so upset over a fish, but good job,” Akira says, waving over a man standing nearby so it can be measured. Goro doesn’t care about how long it is, he’s just pathetically proud of himself for managing to reel it in.

They spend another hour fishing, and Goro catches nothing else.

* * *

They decide to buy food when they leave the fishing spot, which is weird, because of the whole—everything. They go to Chinatown and Goro pays for Akira’s food to make up for everything he had at Leblanc.

When they say goodbye and get on separate trains, it feels much more solemn than it should. Goro had—a really nice day, which he hasn’t had in an extremely long time, and now it’s over and he wishes it weren’t. Amidst all the laughing and talking Goro forgot who he was for a while, and now he’s remembering again. 

And, to add onto it, of course Goro can’t help but feel guilty for having a nice time with Akira. He cannot grasp why on earth Akira would want to even be in the same room as him let alone sit next to him on a fishing deck for an hour and a half. 

This is irritatingly confusing.

He doesn’t know what to do with the fact that there is someone that wants him around despite the amount of dirty blood metaphorically dripping down his shoulders. Nobody wanted Goro when he was a child, everybody superficially wanted him when he was a detective, and now somebody wants him and Goro doesn’t think anybody should. He isn’t sure if he wants anyone to, either. He can’t handle it anymore, can’t handle friendships and being close to anyone and so on because he doesn’t know how they work and because there is always the potential for abandonment. 

_ Which is a pathetic mindset,  _ he thinks to himself as he unlocks the door to his apartment.

Goro takes off his shoes and sits his bag on a chair before going to shower. His nose is sunburnt, he notes when he looks at himself in the mirror, which is annoying. Every part of him feels gross, in more ways than one, and he wonders if spending time with Akira twice in one week has the potential to give him cardiac arrest from the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

If he were Akira, he wouldn’t ever want to talk to Goro ever again, or look at him or anything. Goro doesn’t have a heart made of gold, quite obviously, and he doesn’t think Akira does either, but could get something close to it at this rate.

He turns up the water as hot as it can go. It hurts his skin, but he doesn’t allow himself to turn it any lower because he needs it to be hot or else he’ll start thinking about himself. His arms and back are bright red when he steps out. 

Goro changes into a t-shirt, lays down on his futon and stares at the ceiling.

“What have I done?” he asks the air, and the air doesn’t reply. 

Loneliness is comforting, sometimes. That’s what Goro likes to tell himself when he wishes he had someone to talk to—about anything. Someone to talk to about the weather or the news or anything equally arbitrary. And now that he’s been given the potential of having just that, he doesn’t know if he likes it—or perhaps, better put, if he can handle it. It would be so simple to open up and spill every poisonous emotion he’s held in to Akira, because he is so uncannily easy to talk to. Words form so naturally when he talks to him; Goro doesn’t have to think about each morpheme coming out of his mouth.

But he can’t do that to Akira—he can’t dump any of that onto him. He can’t. It isn’t fair to him. 

Goro is terrified. He doesn’t like it.

He is terrified of someone caring about him and of someone enjoying their time with him, especially now. Goro hasn’t been close to many people, really, because he’s too afraid of being abandoned and left alone. He talked to Sae about whatever he pleased but it usually wasn’t anything personal or revealing. Either way, there hadn’t been much of a point in befriending people back when he planned to die before he was nineteen, but now Goro is twenty and, well. 

Nothing ever goes as it is intended to, and he should know that the most out of any other person on the planet. 

He tells himself loneliness is comforting but it isn’t at all. Spending time with the Thieves and spending time with Akira has given him a taste of what it’s like to  _ not  _ be lonely and he hates that he wants more of it. 

Goro wishes Tae didn’t help him. He wishes he died in the engine room. 

He sullenly debates killing himself but is too tired to get out of bed.

His phone buzzes, suddenly, and it makes him jump. After taking a second to compose himself he looks at his messages.

**[8:44 PM] Kurusu Akira:** thanks for hanging out with me today. i had a nice time

Goro stares at his phone.

**[8:46 PM] Me:** I had a nice time too, thank you for inviting me  
**[8:46 PM] Kurusu Akira:** you don’t need to thank me  
**[8:47 PM] Kurusu Akira:** want to do something tomorrow? i don’t have work  
**[8:47 PM] Kurusu Akira:** it’s fine if you can’t though. tell me if i sound pushy

Goro stares at his phone more. He can’t deal with this. He throws his phone into the corner of the room, half hoping it breaks, and stands up. 

This is extremely pitiful. His heart is racing, hands are shaking, and why? Because Akira asked him if he wanted to  _ hang out?  _ What is there to be afraid of?

A lot, apparently. 

Goro yanks open his wardrobe door and pulls out all the clothes inside. He tosses them onto the ground, onto his futon, anywhere that there’s space, and then falls to his knees and begins sorting them. He sorts them by color and by hanger style. When he hangs everything back up in its new order, he doesn’t feel any better, so he goes into the kitchen and proceeds to take all of the plates and glasses and things out of the cupboards. 

He reorganizes everything by their relative size and shape, stacking each plate and cup individually to take up as much time as possible. Once he is finished he washes all of his cutlery and pots and pans.

Goro wonders if he should throw his knives away. Goro has thrown out a lot of things—a letter opener, sleeping pills, painkillers, the works. He doesn’t trust himself, and he tells himself that it’s good he at least has the mind to throw them away in the first place. 

When he puts away the last pan, Goro feels significantly calmer and returns to his futon with a glass of water and an apple.

There are many messages on his phone, which is stressful. It makes him think of Shido. He bites his lip and unlocks his phone.

**[9:01 PM] Kurusu Akira:** we don’t have to if you don’t want to or can’t  
**[9:09 PM] Kurusu Akira:** you could just come to leblanc if you want  
**[9:39 PM] Kurusu Akira:** i sound dumber with every message i send  
**[9:53 PM] Unknown:** hey akira told me u work in jinbocho? ive always wanted to go…. so..  
**[9:55 PM] Unknown:** oh yeah this is ann btw

Goro sighs, briefly considers moving far away, and replies.

Somehow, someway, this is all happening, all occurring, all tumbling, and Fate is just watching.

 


	2. numbers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shifting the content warnings to the beginning of the chapter bc it's more convenient.  
> warnings for implied/referenced child abuse & a vague ish panic attack

The day after Goro takes Ann and Akira to Jinbocho, he goes to Leblanc.

* * *

“And, um, this is the store I work at,” Goro says, awkwardly gesturing to a very brown looking store that’s covered up by an uncountable amount of books. It’s a little awkward, showing them where he works, but supposes it’s also an inevitability.

Ann, however, seems to think it’s very charming. “It’s soo cute!” She turns to Goro. “It’s very you.”

Goro isn’t sure how to take that. It does remind him of what Akira was saying the other day—something about him sitting in the back of the bookstore on a stool—was it a stool?—and Goro considers asking Akira to finish whatever that statement was, but it’s been too long since the conversation.

“I can help you find the book you were looking for,” Goro says, touching his fingertips together. “If you’d like.”

“What book?”

Goro frowns. Akira snickers. Ann looks confused.

“The book you said you were looking for,” Goro explains, voice slow.

It takes a few seconds for Ann to realize what he’s referring to. “Ooooh, _that_ book! Yeah, that was just a lie Akira told me to use because he was worried he was texting you too much. And I wanted to hang out with you.”

Akira whaps her on the arm with his water bottle.

* * *

Goro goes to Leblanc day after that, and the next; Goro does not go the day after that because he needed a break, but he continues to go in the days following. Every time he opens the door to that place, he has to ask himself if continuing to do this is a good idea, and every time, he can’t give himself an adequate answer.

Now it has been a week and a half since he went fishing with Akira and had a subsequent bizarre mental breakdown, and in the time since, he’s been to Leblanc nearly every day. He is there now, too, reading an article on cicadas that Sojiro left on the counter.

“Did you know,” he says, holding up the article as if it’s announcing a shift in world power, “that of the two thousand species of cicadas, thirty of them can be found in Japan?”

“Thirty doesn’t seem like a lot,” Akira says from the kitchen while he washes a plate.

Goro flaps the article down dramatically. “That’s subjective. The Earth is very large. Thirty species in one place is quite a bit.”

Akira gives a breathy laugh. “You make a very compelling argument when you put it that way, I guess.”

Goro pretends to read the rest of the article. Truthfully, he’s already read it about three times in the hour he’s been here, but just now decided to use it as a conversation starter. He was starting to run out of things to comment on, much to his own dismay.

Sometimes Goro wonders if he thinks about things too linearly. He spends time with Akira nearly every day, which is ridiculous in itself, and yet he still hasn’t any idea how this friendship works or if it’s developing—developing?—properly. Akira hasn’t brought up _the murder_ either _,_ which is kind of him, but at the same time the issue is looming over Goro’s head like a great cumulonimbus. It makes him feel as though everything between him and Akira is only superficial—whatever is between them, anyway. Until Akira brings up the subject, though, it’s likely going to continue to feel that way.

Goro wants to respect Akira’s wishes so he has decided to not bring it up himself and leave it as something to address when the time comes. Still—waiting is difficult. Goro needs to prepare a dialogue, or something. He keeps telling himself to be patient, patience is a virtue, et cetera, but patience isn’t a virtue that Goro thinks he possesses anymore. A person can only wait so long for a great number of things, realize that these things will never come to him, and then still continue to have the capacity to be patient.

_Thinking linearly._ He doesn’t need to prepare a dialogue for anyone (except maybe his manager) now, but can’t seem to help doing it, especially now that he’s inadvertently gotten himself “involved” with the Thieves again. His obsession with appearing flawless to every living and dead human being has always been a little out of hand, and apparently they’re only exacerbating it, for reasons both obvious as well as unknown.

He doesn’t need to present himself perfectly to Akira, not really—but what if Akira doesn’t like him when he isn’t structured? What if Akira doesn’t like non-scripted Akechi Goro? That is where the problem arises, because if that happens, then, well—Goro doesn’t want to think about that.

It’s undeniable that Akira’s opinion of him matters. Goro wants to be liked by Akira; no amount of dissent will ever change that truth, as unfortunate as it may be. Technically speaking, _everyone’s_ opinions matter to Goro, more or less—Akira is simply leaning on the _more_ side rather than the _less._ Approval is absolutely everything, always, and Goro thinks it likely will stay that way.

He’s trying, really. He’s trying to find what a semblance of normalcy is—has been for a long, long time—but it’s so difficult to do when it feels as though one wrong move will make him lonely again.

Goro can’t say whether or not he’s not lonely anymore, actually. Despite the concerning and unnerving amount of time he has spent in the company of other people this past week, something about all of this makes him feel very separated from everyone. It’s probably got something to do with how often Goro thinks he _shouldn’t_ be hanging around Akira and so on. In fact, it almost definitely has something to do with that.

Admittedly, it _is_ nice, being friends with Akira—it’s nice to have someone to talk to, especially because Goro has a lot to say about a vast variety of things (such as cicadas). Akira listens, too; he always puts in a reply that gives off the impression he’s relatively invested in the conversation.

Goro hasn’t felt like he’s been listened to in a very, very long time, so this is pleasant. At least, it’s pleasant in the sense that finally someone is paying attention to his existence again, as troublesome as the individual who is doing the paying attention is. Of course it has to be Akira, because it’s always him, when Goro wants it to be and when he doesn’t want it to be.

(He doesn’t miss the way Akira’s eyes light up when Goro enters Leblanc every day.)

All of this is very new to Goro. It feels foreign; he is still telling himself he doesn’t deserve it and that he should back out before something earth shatteringly terrible happens, and is _still_ not following that piece of advice he seems to adamantly stuck to. He’s letting himself be stuck in place with the illusion of moving backwards.

Perhaps Goro’s problem isn’t that he can’t help but think of relationships with people as structured, organized things, but rather that he is only capable of thinking in black and white terms. Maybe it’s both. Maybe one influences the other. Detectives don’t psychoanalyze things!

He’s trying.

“Are you really that interested in cicadas?” Akira asks, taking a seat across from Goro at the booth. He slides him a drink and the sound of ice cubes go _clinkclinkclink_ as the glass moves across the table.

Goro puts the article down. “I’ve just been rereading it for lack of anything better to do, truthfully. I wasn’t planning on telling you that but now I have, so you should feel flattered.” He frowns at the drink. “Is that lemonade?”

“I thought that you might be tired of coffee,” Akira explains, tapping an empty offending coffee cup that is pushed to the side of the table. It had been refilled at least four times. Goro is going to die from caffeine overdose one day and nobody is going to be shocked, least of all himself.

“Never,” Goro says with a smirk, and he tries the lemonade. It’s good. A bit sweeter than what he would normally consider for lemonade, but good nonetheless.

This is all right, isn’t it? He can make jokes and laugh with Akira. He’s allowed to; Akira is fine with it, apparently.

“Well? What do you think?” Akira asks. He’s smiling like it’s his last day on earth.

“It’s good,” Goro says, stirring the ice around with the straw absentmindedly.

Akira makes a noise that sounds something like _peh!_ “That’s all you ever say about things I make you. Coffee? It’s good. Curry? It’s good. Lemonade? It’s good. I guess I’m condemned to be average forever.”

Goro’s eyes widen. He attempts to launch into an apology. “No, I didn’t mean to make it sound like that, I—”

“I was just joking, don’t worry,” Akira says. “Your face gets so red when you get worked up.”

Goro splutters. This is the absolute worst, and he’s letting it happen all on his own. “No it does not,” he says.

“Yes it does. It happened when you were yelling at that fish a week ago, which was a really interesting display, by the way.”  
“You’ve told me numerous times before,” Goro mumbles around the lemonade straw. He’s been chewing the end of it instead of stirring the ice now, because it was starting to get on his nerves.

“It was funny. You also called me a mariner as an insult.”

“I wasn’t trying to insinuate that I don’t appreciate the work of mariners,” he explains, “I meant it in a literal sense. It was very shocking to see you delicately work a fishing pole when I’ve also seen you stab things.”

“Ryuji is the one that took me to that fishing spot in the first place, so I’m not the pioneer mariner, just his apprentice.” Pause. “Thinking of taking up fishing?”

“No, I’m—no. I don’t have the patience to sit around all hours of the day waiting for something that may or may not happen, _and_ I happen to think fish are gross.”

Akira looks like he might pop his jugular what with the way he’s trying to hold in his next comment. He exhales loudly and says, “First of all—the waiting part is what makes it fun. And—”

“‘Fun,’” Goro repeats, using air quotes.

“Like the cicada population in Japan, fun is also subjective. And _second,_ as I was saying: don’t you supremely love sushi or something? That’s fish. You also grabbed the fish you caught.”

“Yes, and I only became aware of how gross fish are while I was holding it.” A sigh. “It doesn’t make me think anything different of food that has fish in it, because those fish are dead. They are no longer sentient.”

“That’s fair,” Akira says.

Goro gives a smug smile. “Thought so. Besides that matter, I—”

He stops mid sentence to turn around at the sound of the door opening. His blood coagulates at the sight before him.

Ann, Makoto and Futaba stand in the doorway to Leblanc, exchanging glances with one another as if they’ve come across secret government information and aren’t sure what to do with it.

(Though technically Goro’s existence could be seen as a secret, in some convoluted sort of way.)

The cafe is dead silent.

“Well,” Futaba says, “this is really awkward.” She looks directly at Akira. “I texted you and said we were coming over! You said nobody was here!”

Akira keeps a more or less straight face. “I lied.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Futaba mumbles. “You didn’t give me enough time to prepare. Prepare for… um.”

She looks at Goro, who sinks further down into his seat. He closes his eyes and wills himself to transform into bacteria.

This sucks.

“Sorry, I know I should have told you.” Goro can hear Akira shuffling around, probably to sit up straighter. “I was just worried that if I told you he was here, you wouldn’t have wanted to come over anymore.”

Goro knows Akira doesn’t mean anything bad by it, but there’s something hilarious about being referred to as _he_ in such a perfunctory way.  
Futaba nervously huffs. “That’s exactly right! Which is why you should have told me, because now I don’t know what to do!”

“I wish you hadn’t lied, Akira,” Makoto says. She has her teacher voice on. “It isn’t fair to Futaba, myself, Ann, and… Akechi-kun as well.”

Goro pinches his hand to discover that he has not, in fact, turned into bacteria yet.

Seeing Futaba and Makoto react this way does hurt. They’re distressed over Goro’s very existence, and while he will admit their reaction is perfectly justified—particularly on Futaba’s part—it still hurts. Maybe it shouldn’t bother him so much because he knows how he has affected their lives and that they have a right to dislike him, but the acknowledgment of this does little to pacify his feelings.

And, again—the fact that this is happening is very funny. More times than he should, Goro has wondered where he would be right this moment had he not gone to Leblanc. Probably at home, probably going for a run, probably staring despondently at the frozen food aisle in his nearby grocery store thinking about hypotheticals.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, doesn’t know what he’s doing, doesn’t know what he’s doing, doesn’t know why he’s doing it, doesn’t know how it happened. Akira doesn’t deserve this.

“It’s not like you guys can avoid him for the rest of your lives,” Akira says. Goro can practically hear him folding his arms across his chest just through his voice.

“We weren’t planning on doing that,” Makoto mumbles, then clears her throat. “Like I said, it just isn’t fair to anybody here, and you know that. All I’m asking for is a warning.”

“I know, I get it! I was being selfish. Maybe I was thinking that doing it this way would break the ice better.”  
“Break the—Akira, he’s killed people, one of them being Futaba’s mother, and your first concern is ‘breaking the ice?’ I know that we’ve—”  
“I’m sitting right here, you know!” Goro exclaims, ripping a hangnail off his thumb in the process.

Makoto stares, mouth open, before she coughs into her fist and continues. “I’m sorry, Akechi-kun. But it is true, you know, and should be addressed first and foremost.”

“Maybe not first and foremost,” Akira murmurs halfway through her sentence.

“Oh, yes, I know!” Goro shoots upward in the seat, arms flying over his head. “Please continue to inform me of all the terrible things I’ve done in my little waste of a life.”

“That wasn’t what I was intending to do, and I apologize if that’s how you took it.” There’s an unmistakable hint of strain in Makoto’s voice.

“No, no, keep going. I forget sometimes, you know? I like to remember constantly, it’s my preference. So go on!”

Makoto looks at him, lips thin, and says nothing.

“Cat got your tongue, hm?” Goro asks, mania bubbling in his throat like water in a kettle. This is why he can’t bottle up his feelings, this is why he wants Akira to talk out what happened between them as soon as possible—because the longer Goro internalizes things, the more intensely he lashes out, whether it be to his pillows or bathroom mirror or to people.

He feels like a monster all the time.

“Akechi,” Akira says quietly, gently nudging his ankle under the table with his foot, “calm down.”

“I am calm!” he shouts, clearly not calm at all. He looks at Futaba, shrunken behind Makoto, and wishes he’d jumped in front of the train this morning. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to chastise me, Niijima-san—I know I’m getting what’s coming for me.”

He smiles, all lost inside of himself again, half watching himself from somewhere outside of his own body. He wishes he would stop talking; he doesn’t mean to yell at any of them. Everything feels so out of his own control. Calm down, calm down.

“Akechi,” Akira repeats, and Goro pretends to not hear. He opens his mouth to speak again, but is beaten to it by Ann.

“Y’know… while it definitely wasn’t cool of Akira to lie about nobody being here, it isn’t nice of you guys to start talking about Akechi-kun like he isn’t in the room.” She puts a hand on her hip. “He’s really nice, and—”

“Oh, I’m nice now,” Goro mutters, mostly to himself. His head is spinning; time is passing in little broken segments.

“—I went to Jinbocho with him the other day. You can at least… at least greet him before jumping right into the serious stuff! Not to sound nasty, but you’re kind of being hypocrites.”

Silence. Goro looks at him thumb. Blood drips down the side of it, stemming from the peeled hangnail. It makes him think of numerous things, all of which are not good. Red is the blood of the blood of the blood of the blood.  
“Excuse me,” he says, voice polite and even as he stands. “I’ll just be a moment.”

He hurries into the bathroom, then, locks the door and immediately slides to the ground. His limbs feel too long for this stupid small room, he’s on the gross floor, and his head has pins and needles. There’s a mound of sand in place of his brain.

Unfortunate.

Goro barely remembers what he felt like when he berserked himself, unsurprisingly. His adrenaline was too high, muscles too twitchy, neurons too overactive and brain processing too much at once. There are little bits and pieces of things he remembers: certain phrases, the way Yusuke was looking at him, and the feeling inside of his body, electric and sticky. He cannot imagine he will ever come close to behaving and feeling that way ever again, but sometimes he wonders if he might get halfway to it. He’s afraid of himself, always has been, but has pretended to not be for majority of his life.

Presence is everything.

In the past year, Goro has gotten significantly worse at—managing is the word, maybe—his temper than he used to be able to. It’s both unsettling and annoying as well. There’s just something about living when he hadn’t meant to, being alone which he both wants and doesn’t want, and being unable to meet his own vague expectations of himself that so easily create the potential for frustration and anger, in addition to a litany of other unspecified things.

He is simply sick of inconveniences, sick of things not working out, sick of having nothing. When the store runs out of his favorite popsicle it’s enough to put him in a bad mood, as childish and silly as that may be.

More than that, he experiences a much wider variety of emotions now—most commonly anger, second most common sadness, third most common indifference; it is still much more than he is used to. It’s bothersome, to put it simply.

He wipes the blood from his finger using toilet paper and holds it against the wound. It stings. He hadn’t meant to rip it off.

Goro gives himself a few minutes to relax and pull himself together. He can hear muffled voices outside in the time that passes, catching words like _unfair_ and _ridiculous_ and _patience._

In moments like these—where Goro takes a step back and gets a big look at how his life is now and where he is with everything—he wishes the most that he hadn’t ever been born. But there isn’t anything he can do to change that fact, so he must live with it.

And he wants to live, he thinks, just not like this. Never like this. At least, in the moments where there are no clouds in the sky and he can hear the birds, he wants to live. It depends on the day and the time and a million other things. Wanting to be alive circumstantially is the best he can get.

He wants to be happy and talk to Akira without worries, but that won’t ever happen—not fully, anyway. Guilt lives inside him like worms, burying into his heart and lungs and limbs.

There is a knock at the door, and for a very brief moment, Goro’s life flashes before his eyes: he is young, hiding in a bathroom similar in size to this one, and an adult is wildly thumping their fist against the door and shrieking to _get out of there right now before I kick this fucking door down and—_

“Akechi?” he then hears, and his brain falls back to reality. He sighs. It’s only Akira at the door, of course, because it couldn’t be anybody else.

“I’m alive,” he says, standing up and opening the door.

Akira’s face is riddled in worry and hesitation. “Are you okay?” he asks, tentative.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He waves his hand dismissively. Akira can most definitely see straight through him, but Goro is too lazy to put up any more of an effort.

“Hey, I’m… really sorry for that. I should have told them you were here, and should have asked you if I could invite them over. I didn’t want anything to happen.”

“You were just thinking optimistically,” Goro mumbles. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“It clearly does matter or you wouldn’t have stormed into the bathroom. You were upset. I think a baby would be able to point that out.”

A huff. “I hardly stormed into here. Just—” Something overtakes him, and he can’t help but laugh at how stupid he sounds. “—just aggressively walked.”

“That,” Akira says, smirking, “is the exact same thing as storming in.” He jabs Goro on the chest and it feels extremely strange.

Akira is a touchy person. He likes to give people friendly shoves, kick their ankles gently with his foot under tables to get whomever’s attention, and grab the ends of sleeves. It seems that he isn’t even consciously aware he does this, like it’s part of the way he talks. Goro is not a touchy person. The most he remembers touching people in the past few years is when he would put his hand on Akira’s shoulder in Sae’s palace. The point is—he isn’t used to touching, so every time Akira taps him on the shoulder and so on, it feels very foreign.

Not unwelcomed, just—foreign.

“No it isn’t. Can we go back to the booth? I want to finish my lemonade and I’m tired of standing inside of this bathroom,” Goro says, switching the light off. “You need to clean it better.”

“Sure, yeah.” Akira steps aside. “I clean this bathroom just fine, by the way. Feel free to take the chore upon yourself if it’s so unsatisfactory.”

Goro waves his hand dismissively.

Makoto, Ann, and Futaba are still in the cafe, sitting at the booth farthest from where he and Akira were sitting. They have some magazines spread out on the table.

Goro sits back down and picks up his lemonade, listening in on the conversation. He scrolls through the zero new messages on his phone and continues chewing on the lemonade straw  in an attempt to look innocuous. Akira sits across from him and does the same, eyeing Goro every now and then.

“I’m not sure what I think of this one,” Ann sighs. “I think my hand looks really weird when it’s positioned like that. Like, the wrist bone there? It looks funny.”

“It looks fine,” Makoto says. “You’re just nitpicking. There isn’t anything wrong with your hand.”

“But what about my ankles? They look broken.” Ann then asks, huffing slightly. “Something about these pictures just really bothers me.”

“You truly do look fine in them. Right, Futaba?”

Futaba makes a _mmmhmm_ sound of agreement. “You do.” There’s a pause. “I’m serious!”

Goro is curious about what’s going on. He finishes his lemonade and sends Akira:

**[5:44 PM] Me:** What are they doing?

He looks up at Akira, who smiles when he gets the message. It looks like he’s trying to hide it, though, because when he makes eye contact with Goro, he lifts his shirt over his mouth and furrows his brows.

**[5:45 PM] Kurusu Akira:** looking at ann’s new photoshoot  
**[5:45 PM] Kurusu Akira:** i don’t think she likes the way this set turned out  
**[5:45 PM] Me:** Oh

Akira sets his phone down. “Do you want more lemonade?”

Goro looks at his empty glass and considers. “No thanks,” he says, slowly, and he sounds unsure because he is. On one hand, he does want more lemonade, but on the other, he doesn’t want Akira to have to do anything else for him, so he figures it’s best to decline. Also, he’s concerned about getting a cavity what the large amounts of sugar he has been having lately.

“—fine, let’s get another opinion, then!” Goro hears Futaba say. There’s some noise, and then she is suddenly standing in front of the booth he and Akira are seated at, fists clenched at her sides. If Goro weren’t so curious about what she’s going to say, he might have been intimidated.

She slams a magazine down on the table and points to Ann’s figure on one of the pages. “Akira! Uh… Akechi! She doesn’t look bad or weird here, right? Ankles look fine? Wrist bone?”

Akira stands up a bit in his seat to get a better look at the spread. Goro, too, cranes his neck and stares at it, scanning up and down the page. There are all sorts of long winded descriptions all over the spread. Incidentally, Ann apparently uses the same moisturizer as Goro.

“I don’t see anything wrong with it,” he says. “It’s a good photoshoot.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with it either,” Akira agrees, sliding back to his seated position. The booth seat deflates a little when he sits.

“See, Ann?” Futaba half-shouts, stomping back over to her booth. “There isn’t anything wrong with it!”

“Nitpicking,” Makoto says again, nodding her head.

Goro turns his attention back to Akira. When they make eye contact, time freezes for the shortest of moments, and Goro can see all of Akira, he realizes, sitting at a booth with him like this: his cloudy grey eyes, hair curls and chapped lips, a skin splotch just under his eye and his jaw shape. Akira has a very particular kind of beauty that is so unlike all other kinds. It is bold, vibrant, and daring; nothing about him is soft, appearance wise, except for perhaps his hair.

They are fundamentally different at this level: Akira is externally sharp, internally softer. Goro is externally soft, internally sharper.

And Akira has always been like this, Goro hasn’t noticed it for the first time just now. Back during the Thieves’ meetings, Akira would always sit there so placidly, so quietly, staring at his homework and twirling his pencil as Makoto spoke to the group in long, detailed sentences. He always seemed so deep in thought, so distracted, but Goro knew that he was listening by the way his eyes would dart up every now and then, whenever someone would say a particular word or phrase.

The way Akira sits right now—half slouching over the booth, the palm of his hand holding up his head, one curl hanging very close to his eye—it reminds Goro of back then, when things were in much more of a disarray than they are now, even though it feels like the complete opposite.

Maybe Goro should stop referring to that period of time as “back then,” but he hasn’t found a better way to, not yet. Maybe he should stop comparing everything to how things used to be. This is much, much easier said than done, of course; everything reminds him of everything, particularly Akira and his facial expressions and his tiredness and slouchy posture.

“What’re you thinking about?” Akira asks suddenly, tapping his fingers against the wood table and scrolling through his phone with his other hand. “Seems like it’s important.”

“Uh,” Goro stumbles, coming back to himself. “I changed my mind. I’d like more lemonade.”

“Lemonade is important,” Akira says, standing up and picking up Goro’s glass.

* * *

**[11:54 PM] Kurusu Akira:** come to a museum with me and yusuke on wednesday?  
**[11:54 PM] Kurusu Akira:** pleaaaaaaaase i promise it won’t be super awkward he likes it there and will just talk about the art  
**[12:01 AM] Me:** I’d be happy to  
**[12:03 AM] Kurusu Akira:** you’re the best  
**[12:03 AM] Me:** I sure hope so

* * *

 Wednesday morning, Goro takes the train to Ueno.

He’s tired, and it takes everything in him to not fall asleep on the way there. He hasn’t been sleeping well—most of his dreams as of late involve him shooting Akira, dismembering him, or watching other people bludgeon him and it makes him physically sick when he wakes up. He knows that he doesn’t think that and he knows he wouldn’t dare hurt Akira on purpose, so it is upsetting, to say the least. Whatever part of Goro’s brain that is out to get him has certainly been putting in a lot of effort into making him absolutely miserable.

Had the Phantom Thieves ever decided to steal Goro’s heart, he imagines it would have felt beyond terrible. Goro figures that his heart has in fact changed by his own will, or ability, or whatever—but the change has been a slow, drawn out process. And although it is horrifically draining, putting it lightly, he’s at least been somewhat able to address certain things at his own pace and speed. If they had changed his heart, he would have felt everything all at once, and he cannot begin to envision the feelings that would come along with that. It would be bad. It would be more than bad, in fact; it would be absolutely fatal.

In a way, perhaps it’s better that they never changed his heart. It’s also a bit of consolation to Goro, knowing that he was able to change himself without the “help” of the Phantom Thieves. Sometimes Goro does wonder what his treasure would have been, though. There’s no doubt in his mind he would have had a palace—despite the fact that persona users aren’t _supposed_ to have palaces, he thinks he would have one anyway, fit into some sort of exception, as he was an exception in the first place—so of course he would have a treasure.  
He also wonders what his palace would have looked like. A disaster, most likely. There are a variety of things it could have taken form as, and he wouldn’t have wanted any of the Thieves to see any of them.

Goro is aware of the things he did when he was younger. It’s impossible not to acknowledge them, and foolish to disregard them. The everlingering problem, of course, is that he cannot seem to find a balance in thinking. He wants to talk about it to Akira so, so very much—needs to. But he has to give it time until he’s ready.

He is glad he’s friends with Akira, though—most of him is, anyway. He thinks he’s glad; he’s glad when they’re mindlessly talking, but when he’s back alone at his apartment, Goro can’t help but feel that he made some great mistake. They _are_ friends now, though, there isn’t any denying that. But some far away part of Goro that is still jealous of Akira and still seventeen and still lives inside of his brain wishes he hadn’t ever gone back to Leblanc and hadn’t ever seen Akira. It’s perilous being around him. Getting close to someone who he has tried to kill twice is ridiculously comical. It’s messy, it’s wrong, Akira doesn’t deserve this, Goro wants to die, but Akira is one of the few people that has treated him with a shred of decency despite everything, and he _wants_ to hang out with Goro and—

Goro doesn’t want to think about this anymore. It’s too much at once. He thinks about his work schedule instead.

The train comes to a stop, and Goro opens his eyes and steps off onto the station platform. He spots Akira and Yusuke waiting for him against a wall, looking at something on Yusuke’s phone.

Someone bumps into Goro, hard, and his eye twitches. _Deep breath,_ he tells himself.

Akira spots him first and gives a small wave. Goro approaches them with much more caution than is warranted and smiles meekly.

“Hey, Akechi,” Akira says. “You look tired.”

Goro makes a face. Apparently he hadn’t used enough concealer. “Thank you. I’m aware.”

Yusuke looks up from his phone and stares at Goro for a good, long minute, as if he’s a weapon being scanned for fingerprints.

“Hello, Akechi,” he finally says, and Goro lets out a metaphorical breath. “I must agree, you do look tired.”

Of all the things Yusuke could have said to him, this is not what he was expecting. It’s marginally better than all of the other things Goro was imagining him to say—this is like a compliment by comparison.

“Like I said, I’m aware,” Goro manages, wringing his hands. “Shall we go?”

“We shall,” Akira says. Goro whacks him on the arm and they set out for the museum.

Goro is surprised at Yusuke’s lack of discontempt towards him. He’s the type of person to wear his emotions on his forehead, so if this is his genuine attitude towards Goro, that’s more than a shock.

Everyone walks on eggshells around Goro, though. Yusuke may be doing just that. There’s a first for everything.

He considers telling Akira and Yusuke that they may want to seek therapy, what with the way they’re behaving around him. At least Makoto and Futaba (and Ann, somewhat) have acted more “appropriately” around him. He can imagine Akira’s raised brow would Goro say that to them, though, because it’s an awfully ironic statement. _How about you seek therapy,_ the annoying part of his brain says. Goro doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to sit on a leather couch and clutch one of the ornate pillows and feel crazy.

Not yet.

When he thinks about it, Goro supposes that this is a strange thing for him to be upset about. Why is he so frustrated that Akira and Yusuke are being nice to him, indifferent towards him? It seems that learned helplessness is just a part of him now: he cannot accept help and kindness and compassion, because he’s taught himself that it doesn’t exist—it always comes with repercussions.

Goro thinks about the social worker that gave him a sticker and wonders how she is doing. He kicked her in the shin once, because back then he hadn’t learned how to behave in ways that people liked. Hopefully at least she forgives him.

“How have you been?” he asks Yusuke, wondering if he can gauge his feelings more by talking to him. _So methodical._ “Have you been faring well in this heat?”

“I have been doing well, even in his heat. I have many fans set up all around my room. Otherwise, there has not been much going on in my life as of late,” Yusuke says, hand on chin. “Although I do keep having a strange recurring dream about frogs sewing me various pairs of pants.”

Goro has absolutely no idea what to say to this, so he goes for “Ah.”

“I had a dream Sojiro wouldn’t stop throwing rolls of tape at me a few nights ago,” Akira adds in. “Whenever I tried to catch them, they would multiply in my hands.”

Goro can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

He doesn’t have any dreams he would like to share with the two of them, so he doesn’t give a response, as it might initiate the question _have you had any weird dreams, Akechi?_

“I wonder what that could mean,” Yusuke says. “Do you think it means anything, Akira?”

“I don’t really know. I still don’t know whether or not dreams mean anything. I feel like I learned the answer to this somewhere but I don’t remember it.” He looks at Goro. “You’re the smartest here. Do they have meaning?”

“I’m also the only one here that isn’t in college,” Goro mumbles.

“Yet,” Akira says.

“Sure, yet.”

“And you know that being in college has nothing to do with how smart a person is. The other day you multiplied amounts of money in your head and I don’t even think I could mentally add two double digit numbers.”

Goro does know this, but there’s still an everlingering feeling of disappointment. “I suppose so.”

Silence.

“Well? Do you think dreams have meaning or not?”

“Hmm.” Goro already has an answer to this, but likes to pretend he’s thinking about it, just for the effect. “I think that they do mean something, but the meaning isn’t universal. If your teeth fall out in your dream, the message of that dream isn’t the same for everyone. Something like that. A lot of scientists speculate that dreams are simply the brain’s way of reorganizing information that it has seen throughout the day, but I don’t think they’re based on that alone, otherwise the context of some dreams would make no sense at all.”

“So,” Akira says, and Goro braces himself, “what does my tape dream mean, then?”

“Were you listening to me at all? I said the meaning differs from person to person. I don’t know how tape affects your life. Do you use tape every day?”

Akira considers this briefly. “I don’t think I’ve used tape in months.”

“Maybe you feel like you need to fix something,” Yusuke suggests. “Or perhaps put it back together. Is that something that’s been occuring often?”

Goro feels his blood go cold. No oxygen in his brain.

“Hm, that could be it,” Akira says quietly. “I’m not sure.”

“What do you think you need to fix?” Goro asks quickly, curious whether or not the answer is _you, Akechi._

But Akira would never give an answer as direct as that—not now, not yet, anyway. Besides, although Goro knows that Akira has his little helper complex, he doesn’t think this is something he would feel. Akira is too simon-pure to perceive Goro as something that is broken.

Akira tilts his head to the side and smiles ever so slightly, lips smooth and pink and touched by the sun. Goro can see his eyelashes from here, he can see the light in his eyes and—

“I’m not sure,” Akira repeats, thankfully stilling Goro’s train of thought. So evasive.

“I broke your mug a few weeks ago. The dream may be referring to that.” Yusuke looks at Goro. “Have you had any strange dreams lately, Akechi-kun?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot that you broke my mug,” Akira mumbles. Goro remembers that he, too, broke a cup that belonged to him by proxy.

That’s a thought for another time, though, because of course Yusuke has asked Goro the question he was trying to avoid. “I can’t say I have,” he lies.

In addition to having worse control over his emotions, Goro has also gotten worse at lying, so the way he says this with such ease is a surprise. It isn’t a complete lie either way; he wouldn’t say his dreams are strange so much as they are horrifying.

They talk a bit more about Yusuke’s frog dream until they reach the museum, where they purchase their tickets and shuffle inside. The museum is cool compared to the humidity outside and Goro finally stops fanning himself uselessly with his hand.

“I have already seen this exhibit,” Yusuke says, looking up and around.

“Then why come?” Goro asks, furrowing his brow.

“I wanted to see it again. There is something about seeing things twice that really gives a person a better perspective on what they are viewing.” Pause. “This isn’t limited to paintings, of course.”

“Are there any, uh, pieces that you like in particular? I don’t know where to start,” Akira says. “I go to museums maybe two times a year.”

“Yes, there are. But I’d rather not show you them.”

Goro stares.

Yusuke folds his hands together behind his back like he’s some sort of sage offering advice. “One of the most glorious aspects of art is that every piece, every painting, every sculpture—they leave a different impact on different people. You should discover what you like on your own. If I were to show you my favorite, you would likely be biased towards it because I go to art school, and because it’s the first piece you’ll see, and because someone will proclaim is to be good. That someone is me, of course.” He clears his throat. “There are no best pieces in here, because art is different for everyone. You will see certain paintings different than I, and that is the beauty of it.”

For the first time in weeks, Goro understands something. He understands this.

* * *

Yusuke had wandered off at some point, leaving Akira and Goro by themselves. The room they’re in is a relatively uncrowded abstract art collection. There are about fifteen pieces in the small room, each one very distinct from its neighbor. Some are paint splatters, others are lines drawn by markers, there are ones in between and everywhere else.

Goro doesn’t know much about art, but he likes these ones.

He’s thankful it isn’t crowded today. The museum is just the right kind of quiet; it is not like the quiet of his apartment at two in the morning when the wind and the dead whisper to him. Sometimes Goro thinks he can see shadows crawling up onto his bed then. Blood drips from his ceiling until he blinks it away.

The museum reminds him of the park when the sun is just rising.

“You’ve been staring at this one for a while,” Akira says, suddenly beside him. His voice is loud and heart stopping against the unusual stillness in Goro’s brain.

“I like it,” he explains lamely.

“ _Daikokuten_ by Shiraga Kazuo,” Akira reads from the sign. “God of Wealth? Why do you like it?”

They stare at the painting in silence. It’s painted with long strokes smearing all over the canvas in u-turn shapes and drips and smooth pathways. Most of it is black paint; a small portion of white haunts some of the spaces.

“I just do,” Goro says quietly. “I feel like this sometimes.”

He isn’t sure why he said that or where such honesty came from, but he doesn’t have time to think about it because Akira is wrapping his arm around Goro’s waist, caring and knowing. His fingers press against Goro’s side, and for a moment they are the only two people on the earth. It is an earth where Shido never existed, where Goro’s childhood bears no weight, where Akira doesn’t have a fear of needles, where nothing bad has happened.

He has to bite the inside of his lip to keep himself from crying.

“Do you want to see my favorite?” Akira asks, voice breathless.

Goro doesn’t look at him but says, “Sure.”

They don’t move, though. They stand and stare at the painting until Yusuke finds them, and Goro feels desolately cold when Akira removes his arm.

* * *

 Yusuke leaves early, explaining that he has a project he would like to finish. He gives Goro an awkward smile, an “I hope I get to see you soon,” and then is on his way.

“Want to get crepes?” Akira asks on the way back to the train station. It’s less humid now, thankfully, and the strange stillness of the summer evening casts a calm over the sky.

“Sure,” Goro says. “I haven’t had one in a really long time.”

“I haven’t either. There hasn’t been any reason for me to go.”

“Am I just your excuse to buy crepes, then?” Goro’s tone is joking, of course.

“No, of course not. I just—I mostly go for special occasions. Birthdays and whatever. Or if Ann asks me to. I’m not really big on crepes. I prefer spicy food, you know?” He puntuates his last sentence by bumping his arm against Goro’s.

His eyebrows practically knit themselves together. “And I constitute as a ‘special occasion?’”

“Yeah,” Akira says. “I’m glad you’re back. I think that counts as an occasion. Plus, your birthday was in June, right?”

How Akira knows this, Goro has no idea. He decides to not dwell on it, and also decides to pretend Akira hadn’t said _I’m glad you’re back_. “It was. I celebrated by taking a shower five minutes longer than usual.”

They talk about showering, then, and what shampoo they use, which is a relatively normal conversation topic but feels strange nonetheless. After overthinking a bit, Goro realizes that he finds most discussions between himself and Akira to be odd. Perhaps this is because he hasn’t ever had someone to speak openly like this with before, or because he tried to kill him, or because he still can’t read Akira. Probably a combination of all three.

Goro knows that he shouldn’t think of his relationships with people as things that follow specific sets of rules, because that isn’t how it works. But he can’t help it, of course—he has always structured his entire personality around conformity, looking clean and sure of himself. He found formulas for how to behave around others. Even though he doesn’t have to do that anymore, Goro still finds himself clinging onto the habit from time to time, especially around… certain people.

It’s silly. He doesn’t need to pretend to be someone he isn’t, and he knows this.

Goro doesn’t want to be alone again. He can’t. He thinks he doesn’t want to, anyway; every now and then he changes his mind but that’s usually circumstantial. Now that he has a friendship—two, perhaps, because he texts Ann a lot—he doesn't want to let go of it. It feels nice to talk to someone about whatever he’s thinking without worrying too much about embarrassing himself; Akira lets him ramble and doesn’t point it out.

But it’s still scary—one screw up and everything could be over once again. And that is why sometimes he wishes he never went back to Leblanc those few weeks ago. Because if he hadn’t, the threat of abandonment wouldn’t once again be sitting on his shoulders like a tar-covered monster.

The tiny, tiny part of Goro’s brain that is logical when it comes to these things tells him that friendships don’t work like this. But it’s the mindset he is used to thinking in, and, well—old habits die hard.

They make their way down Central Street to the crepe stand. Not many people are in line today; everyone seems to be seeking places with air conditioning. The heat wave came early this year, and apparently nobody is as prepared for it as they thought they were.

“Let me pay,” Akira says, and Goro lets him. He only overthinks the gesture a little bit, only feels bad about it a little bit.

It’s a very nice evening. There aren’t any clouds in the sky.

After a bit of wandering they find a bench hidden behind a building to sit on. Birds titter around their legs and conspicuously stare at the food in their hands. Akira swings his foot at them and for a moment, they scatter away, but eventually come roaming back over.

“I’m not giving you my food,” Akira says to the birds. “I bought this with my own money.”

“I also cannot imagine that it’s good for their digestive tract.” Pause. “The contents inside of a crepe, I mean. I’m no ornithologist, but that’s my guess.”

“I’m not sure what’s in mine. I picked the first one I saw on the menu because it was hard to read the writing.”

Goro frowns. “Do you need a new glasses prescription or something?”

“Probably. What did you get?”

“What did I get?”

Akira sighs. “What did you get in your crepe?”

“Oh.” Goro inspects it. “There are bananas, I believe.”

“I think I only like bananas when they’re in crepes,” Akira muses.

“Why’s that?”

“Because they’re so squishy. Something has to be there to mask the squishiness.”

“That’s fair, I suppose. I don’t eat them very often, so I don’t feel one particular way or another about them,” Goro says, watching Akira continue to wave his foot at the birds. “They aren’t going to go away, you know. You’re instigating them.”

“I am not instigating them. Just watch, they’ll go away.”

It only takes thirty seconds for Akira to give up his efforts because the birds do not go away. He plants his foot hard on the ground in mock-frustration and goes back to his crepe. It’s falling apart in the heat but it doesn’t seem to bother him.

Only now does Goro realize how close they are sitting next to one another. Their shoulders touch ever so slightly, likely unnoticeable to anyone that can see them from a distance. If Goro slid a bit more over, their thighs would touch. Quite the wobbly thought.

“Has—have your friends said anything about me lately?” Goro asks after some time, voice slow and cautious. The sky is changing colors.

“Not really. I know their opinion matters to you, but don’t think about it too hard.”

Goro huffs. Don’t think about it too hard? Akira must be joking. Always joking, Joker. “You know that piece of advice is useless to someone like me.”

Akira crumples up the wrapping from his crepe and tosses it into the trash can. He licks the side of his hand before he says, “What does that mean, Akechi? ‘Someone like me?’”

“You know what it means,” he mutters dismissively, staring at one of the birds. Goro knows that Akira understands what he means when he says _someone like me_ because he knows that Akira isn’t stupid—he just wants to hear it be explained aloud.

Goro finishes his crepe and puts the trash in his pocket, too anxious to get up and throw it away.

It’s frustrating. Goro goes between oversharing to a regrettable extent and not sharing anything at all. It changes depending on the day, the weather, the hour. Everything about Goro’s behavior feels like one big gambling game. Not even he himself knows how he will react to certain things.

It’s all very damning.

“Hey,” Akira says, quiet and close, “don’t sell yourself short by saying things like that. There isn’t anything wrong with how you act or anything. Or with who you are.”

“Oh, that’s funny. Put that in a jokebook, why don’t you?” He sighs, tapping his fingers on his knees. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come off as malicious. I—you know how it is.”

“Everyone has problems. Yours are just…” Akira raises his arms a bit, attempting to express the inexpressible.

“You can be honest,” Goro says.

Akira sits for a few seconds, seemingly trying to decide the best way to phrase whatever he’s thinking. He lets out a short breath through his nose before settling on, “More… dangerous than others. Maybe not dangerous, but—tricky. Uh…”

“Particular? Exasperating? Endless? Unmanageable?” Goro supplies.

“No, because that makes it sound like dealing with you is difficult. Which, don’t get me wrong, it is, but not in the way you’re thinking.”

Goro gives a pained smile. He knows that Akira means no harm when he says this; everything Akira says is with good intentions, more or less. “I know,” he mutters. “At least you’re honest about it.”

“I mean it, though. I just get worried for you. About you. Sometimes you get so distant when we’re talking—like a part of you shuts down and you’re someplace else.” Pause. “I understand it, I think. I mean, I can understand… where it comes from.”

Goro doesn’t know what to say. His brain hums like a radiator. Tick, tock, fifteen seconds until it clicks off.

“Goro,” Akira says, and his voice is feather soft, sound waves emanating out like clouds, “I’m glad you’re alive. We all are. If anything at all, don’t doubt that.”

The sky is still cloudless.

And Goro has to close his eyes, then, and retreat into his mind. The poison inside of him threatens to spill out, threatens to burst through his esophagus and epithelial tissue and pour down the side of his neck.

Everything in Goro is poison. He is poison. He’s not a person. He isn’t real. He’s a monster. He’s imagining everything, everything. He’s six years old and twenty and fifteen all at the same time.

_Akira’s dead, I’m dead, I killed myself a long time ago. I wasn’t ever born. Nothing ever happened. I’m a good, bad person._

“Hey,” a voice says, and then there’s a hand on his arm and Goro nearly falls off the bench with how intensely he starts. “Sorry. Are you okay? Uh… I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Goro looks up at Akira, and he’s sure his own eyes look like they’re empty, but they aren’t. They’re full of everything, full of the world and living and dead and all the beautiful things and ugly things that exist. It only lasts a moment. He sees everything when he looks at Akira, the whole world laid out in cards and church bells.

He doesn’t say anything, only wraps his arms around Akira and embraces him, fingers coming around to slide down his back. He’s going to regret this in due time, but for now, it feels appropriate. It feels like something long overdue.

“I’m glad you’re alive too,” he whispers, and Akira’s arms hold him tight. “I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry with all of my life.”

Time has stopped once again.

“I can’t forgive you. Not yet, maybe not ever, and you know that. But I want you to be in my life anyway. I hope you want me to be in yours.”

Akira is a treasure.

He’s also crying, Goro realizes, which makes him cry as well. It’s unlike the crying he does by himself when he wakes up from a nightmare or when he comes home and stares at his empty apartment with his empty-full brain and permanently blood stained hands. It doesn’t feel bad this time. It hurts, but not like the three of swords. It is like the five of cups.

It’s only been a week since they reunited. This is quite a bit.

Goro cannot remember the last time he was hugged like this.

“We’ll get better,” Akira says into Goro’s shoulder. This has one million different meanings, and Goro accepts all of them. “Promise.”

They pull apart from one another, awkward and clumsy in a very normal young adult way. It feels nice to be awkward, in a way—feels nice to not have to be people that were forced to grow up much too early.

“Sorry,” Goro says, wiping his face with his hands and rubbing them on his pants. “I wasn’t intending for this to happen.”

Akira sniffs and gives a smile, a laugh. “It’s fine. I want to talk about some more things, but…  not now. This is enough for one day.”

“I think so too.” Pause. “We… ah, we can talk about it whenever you like.”

Goro isn’t completely sure what he’s referring to when he says _it,_ but trusts that whatever it may be to encompass enough. Nothing can be solved in a single conversation, he knows, nor can it from any conversation alone, truthfully. Rather—it’s the actions that precede and follow the conversations. It’s almost akin to nature and nurture, which always work in tandem with one another, but not completely the same.

Something like that, anyway.

Akira touches the ends of his hair. “Thanks for being patient. I know it’s probably not… easy on you.”

Goro shrugs slightly and looks to the ground, then back up. “It isn’t, but it also isn’t my decision. It’s about us, but moreso about…” He searches for a way to phrase this that doesn’t make himself sound like a horrible person, but can’t come up with anything. “...why I did the things I did.”

Akira hums in response, and Goro takes it as his cue to stop talking.

He feels okay now. He didn’t throw up. Instead he got a hug and a crepe.

It is most certainly not what he deserves, but Goro knows he can’t keep thinking that way whenever he spends time with Akira. It’s just so easy to fall into that line of thought.

“Is it all right to call you Goro, by the way?” Akira asks, voice so sudden that Goro flinches. He’s always flinched easily, always been paranoid about the possibility of something hitting him, and the reflex has irritatingly followed him even into young adulthood.

“Oh, yes, that’s fine,” he says, mind drifting a bit. He grits his teeth to stay in reality, focuses on the pressure in his gums.

“You can call me Akira if you want.” He stands. “Let me walk you to your train?”

“Sure,” Goro smiles, standing up as well and tossing away the crepe wrapping he’d earlier put into his pocket. “Akira.”

They make their way to the station in relative silence. It’s comfortable silence, though, and the earth spins on its axis as it should, and the birds and crickets and so on sing calmly, unaware of the everything going on between the everyone.

On evenings like these, Goro is always reminded of one of the few times he felt peace in his teenage years. He was at the park, up early in the morning, sitting underneath a tree and clutching his knees. He had shot someone in the Metaverse the night before; there was no way he was going to sleep after the memory of the way the person begged and pleaded for him to not shoot embedded itself into his limbic system.

His legs had taken him to the park, where he sat and thought until the sun rose and the birds woke up and for a few seconds, he was the only human being alive. There was no Shido, no Metaverse, no mother, no concept of family, no anything. It was only himself and the sky and sun. _This is how it should be,_ he had thought. By himself. Completely by himself, where nothing could ever get to him ever again.

But this—being here, next to Akira, being friends with him and enjoying living even for a few hours in the day—this is how it should be. He doesn’t have to settle for loneliness as the best, safest option.

No matter how guilty Goro feels about it, this is how it should be. He should have peace. For once. For the first time.

They stop at a wall just before Goro’s ticket gate. Akira smiles at him, eyes gentle and warm in a way that Goro has never seen before; nobody has ever looked at him in this way.

“Goro…” Akira whispers, and his voice is nearly nothing at all, “come over tomorrow after Leblanc closes. I’ll make you dinner.”

“How very domestic,” Goro jokes. He has a headache. Too many emotions in one day.

“Fine, then, we can just sit and stare at each other if you won’t accept my offer.”  
“I was kidding. I’ll come over, of course.”

“Good,” Akira says. He bites his lip and wrings his hands, looking extremely unsure of himself. Goro raises an eyebrow. The sudden change in his demeanor is making him uneasy.

Akira gives an “um,” before he leans in and gives Goro a hug. He pulls away, facial expression the picture of wobbly nervous teenager. It’s funny to see him in a way that is so not _Joker._

Goro, of course, is reeling.

“Um,” he repeats, “I hope you liked the museum. I wasn’t sure if it would be boring or not, but Yusuke said it was his favorite museum, so...”

“I did like it.” Goro pauses for a moment, then, because something about Akira’s phrasing seems a little strange. “I thought Kitagawa-kun invited you, and then you asked me to come along as well, though.”

“Well, uh. I guess that’s probably what it sounded like, but I actually asked Yusuke if he’d come with us, and _then_ I asked you.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“I just wanted to take you somewhere, okay? But I thought it’d be helpful if someone else came along.”

“Helpful how?”

Akira shrugs with his hands. “I have no idea. The thing to take from this is that I wanted to take you to a museum. Can we leave it at that?”

“Okay,” Goro says, but he’s far away from earth.

“Uh.” Akira wrings his hands again. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Goro says, giving something that he hopes looks like a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The train ride home feels more lonely than usual.

* * *

Goro wakes up a few hours after three in the morning, launches himself out of his futon and into the bathroom where he throws up the dream he just had in which he watched police officers shoot Akira until he didn’t look like a person anymore.

He sits on the ground, back against the wall, and cries into his knees until his nose bleeds and his hands are raw and burning from scratching at them.

The dreams probably won’t ever go away.

Sitting like this reminds him of being a kid. Hiding. Hide and seek.

Goro curls back up in the blankets, and the shadows hold him until he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> google the painting I mentioned in this for reference :)
> 
> thank you for reading!!


	3. friendship is a boat in a storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is very heavy and also very cheesy and also very dramatic all at the same time so I'm apologizing in advance for that. I've edited huge parts of it like.. 10 times
> 
> content warnings for descriptions of scratching oneself. this chapter involves substantial talk about the interrogation room scene

****Despite not feeling up to it anymore, Goro still goes to Leblanc in the evening because he wants to keep his word and et cetera.

Today is the hottest it has been all week. Goro spent majority of his day trying to adjust the position of the fans at work to point directly at him, but the outlet was too far away from where he usually sat and he unfortunately had to give up. He stayed late, not sure what to do with himself, not wanting to leave, and then took a long walk back to the train station in a continued effort to stall for time.

He changed into something nicer when he got home—not that what he was wearing before _wasn’t_ nice. It just felt like something he had to do, for one reason or another.

Goro stands in front of Leblanc, now, staring at the shadows peeking out and throwing themselves across the ground. He’s in a plain white polo and black pants; someone’s going to comment on the fact that he’s wearing black pants in this ridiculously hot weather but, well. There has been a serious delay in his laundry-doing.

Goro pushes open the door.

When he walks in, Futaba is there, sitting on top of a table and looking at something on her phone. She looks tired, Goro notes; but then again, Futaba always looks tired. He gives her an awkward smile, sets his things down at a different booth and then collapses onto the seat, resting his head on his arms.

“Long day?” Akira asks from the kitchen. “Or…. rough?”

“No,” Goro says halfheartedly. He doesn’t bother moving his head, only makes the bare minimum eye contact. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

Which—it isn’t a lie, not really. His day was eventless, and most of the bad mood stems from the nightmare he had and resulting sleep loss.

“It’s because you drink too much coffee,” Futaba chirps, hopping down from her spot and wandering over to Goro’s seat. “And you drink it so late at night! You should invest in sleeping pills.”

Goro could laugh, but he’s too tired to lift his head. And if he did laugh, he thinks his stomach would burst open, so it’s for the better that he doesn’t. “I can’t,” he says vaguely. “Either way, caffeine isn’t the problem.”

“Why not?”

“Because my tolerance to caffeine is so monstrous that I only drink it now so I’m not constantly dragging myself around.”

“That’s just a fancy way of saying you’re dependent on it.”

Goro thins his eyes. “Half of the world’s population is dependent on it.”

“I’m not.” Futaba grins.

She and Goro have gotten marginally better at talking to one another. Granted, the conversations don’t last very long, but they’re able to make eye contact now. Like he and Akira, they have yet to address the very gigantic _issue_ between them that looms overhead like a wormhole.

Goro doesn’t know how Futaba can look him in the eye.

Part of Goro wonders whether or not she is forcing herself to be friendly in order to appease Akira, but he knows that isn’t likely. For one thing, Futaba is certainly not going to take any garbage from anyone again, especially not from Goro, and for another, Makoto wouldn’t let her do that to herself.  

It seems likely that she is doing this out of her own volition. And Goro appreciates it, of course he does, but it feels like it’s his fault for putting her in this weird situation. It feels like everything is Goro’s fault. Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn’t, perhaps it’s a mix of the two or neither at all.

Everything is so stupid.

Goro wants to have a good relationship with Futaba, truly, just like he knows that deep down he wants to have a good relationship with all of the Thieves. There is this road block, though, this massive, red brick-walled roadblock that is preventing him from making any discernible progress. And, as it stands, the road block is Goro himself. Maybe not all of Goro, but certain parts—certain fearful, unsure, guilty parts that keep growing larger than the rest of him at the worst of times.

“What do you want to eat?” Akira asks, and his voice sounds farther away than it really is.

“Surprise me,” Goro mumbles into his arms, but decides to amend his decision after a moment: “Actually, have Sakura-san decide.”

These are essentially the same two statements.

Futaba says something to Akira but her voice is muffled by the molecules in the air and the fog in Goro’s brain and the pull of the dark and—

* * *

He can hear the sound of Leblanc in his sleep, but it’s not the same cafe.

A ghost, or maybe a figure from the dream, or perhaps neither of those, gently lays their hand atop Goro’s head.

* * *

Someone shakes his shoulder.

Goro sits up, and after staring at nothing for a bit, belatedly realizes that he’s drooled onto his hand. He wipes it onto his pants with a half agonized, half embarrassed groan _._

“Hey, sleepyhead,” a voice says, that of which belongs to Akira; it’s softer than it usually is and nearly knocks the wind out from Goro’s lungs.

Akira sets takeaway sushi and two glasses of water on the table and sits across from Goro with a very comedic _plop_ sound. “I got lazy so I just ordered stuff,” he explains. “I hope you don’t mind. Futaba said curry, but we didn’t have enough ingredients for it and I think she just wanted me to make her dinner.”

“It’s all right, this is fine. Thank you.” Pause. The sleepiness in his eyes is distracting. “Please stop buying me things, though. You’re giving me debt, and I’m not exactly close to making a pediatrician’s salary quite yet.”

Akira laughs, then picks up his water and points at Goro with his pinky finger. “I didn’t say you have to pay me back.”

“Yes, but _I_ say I have to pay you back. Those are my own principles.”

Silence. Akira shrugs, smirks, and they eat for a while, discussing their days and making otherwise silly small talk. Goro can see how nervous Akira is—it’s all over his face—even as he describes how an old lady came into the cafe earlier in the day and forced him to play a card game with her for over two hours.

“The rules were super complicated,” he explains. “I’m pretty sure she made it up herself, because I tried looking it up online later on and couldn’t find anything remotely like the game she taught me.”

“She’s old,” Goro says. “Likely has limited time on her hands and figured she may as well make her own card game.”

Akira makes an exasperated face and gently kicks Goro underneath the table. He laughs in response.

They finish rather quickly. It doesn’t take long for Akira to clean everything up and sit back down with a container of ice cream in his hands. He slides Goro a spoon and pops open the lid with much more force than needed, almost hitting himself in the face with his fist.

“I thought you were going to bring out a chessboard tonight, truthfully,” Goro says, playing with the spoon.

“Why, do you miss beating me?” Akira asks. He’s _almost_ making eye contact, but not quite.

“Mm. It’s just a happy memory.”

A beat of silence passes. The air is full of glue.

Goro clears his throat, then, and reaches for the ice cream. “Well?”

“Well?” Akira repeats, but there isn’t as much joking in his voice as would usually be. He sniffs. “I was hoping the ice cream would diffuse the tension but it isn’t really working.”

Goro passes said food across the table. “I appreciate the gesture anyway. Especially because it’s vanilla flavored,” he says, attempting a smile. “How about this—one of us asks a question, the other answers, and then we go back and forth.”

“So talkshowy,” Akira says with an overdramatic sigh. “Reminds me of, like—uhh, a slumberparty movie or something.”

Goro can’t help it, he supposes. The public speaker is still in him. He thinks, though, that doing it in this manner gives himself less time to plan answers and more time to be honest. He _wants_ to be honest with Akira. He doesn’t want to script this, even though it feels scripted already. “Does that work or not? And—did you just use the word _slumberparty_?”

“The old lady apparently influenced my speech.” Akira taps the table with his index finger. “Sure, sure, that works fine.”

“You ask first, then. Please start off easy or else I’ll have heart failure.”

Akira laughs, warm and carefree, and Goro wants a million things and they all scare him. “All right, let me think for a minute,” he says, digging violently at the ice cream. It’s still very frozen; even the heat isn’t doing much to help melt it. “I really like how you assumed we were going to have… a talk tonight.” He grimaces. “I didn’t mean to phrase it like that.”

“You’ve certainly been implying it, especially what with how serious you were at the train station yesterday.” Goro sniffles. “Also, ah—what was wrong with your phrasing?”

Akira frowns, and then his eyes widen, and then he frowns again, and then his face droops and Goro braces himself for what he’s about to say. “Oh, well… ‘the talk’ is sort of how people refer to when parents talk to their kids about sex and having babies and whatever. It’s kind of, uh… childish of me to make a joke about it.”

“Oh,” Goro says, quiet.

Akira diverts his eyes. “Sorry.”

A dismissive wave. “Don’t worry about it. Nothing to be sorry for, honestly.”

Goro stares at his reflection in the spoon.

“I’m thinking for real now,” Akira mumbles, continuing to stab the ice cream.

In his mind, Goro goes through every possible question Akira may ask him, but knows that it’s futile to do this. His thoughts trail off instead of forming answers; he is looking at Akira’s hands as they grip the ice cream container and crumple the top slightly.

“Okay,” Akira finally says. Goro sits up straighter and pretends to look unbothered. “Did you really, genuinely want to kill me?”

If Goro’s appendix exploded right now, he would thank his body.

“I said to start off easy,” he says meekly.

“This is easy. What did you expect me to ask? What your favorite color is?”

“I know, I apologize.” Goro bites his lower lip and continues to stare at the ice cream. He considers pretending to sneeze to stall for time, but doesn’t, because Akira isn’t stupid. “I had to… tell myself I wanted to do it, otherwise it wouldn’t work. But I didn’t want to do it. I never wanted to do it. Not before it happened and certainly not afterward. Not while we were in the palace, either. In the nights after being at the police station with you, I…” He trails off, not wanting to get into that. “When I—I didn’t ever… think that I’d have to… do…”  
His brain is going all fuzzy.

“I know what you’re trying to say. You didn’t think it would happen. You didn’t want it to. You had to be… kind of emotionless about it, right?” Akira asks with a wave of his hand.

“I suppose, yes. That’s essentially the gist of it. I don’t really have an adequate answer for this. I’d say—I’d say that I told myself I had to do it. I didn’t...” he picks at a scab on his hand as he says this, “...ever want to really do it. Not with anyone. It was something I didn’t have much choice in. But not—I didn’t hate you.”

When Goro saw Shido, when he spoke to him face to face—everyone was an obstacle. When he didn’t see Shido, Akira was—something. He was something.

He was nice to Goro.

“All right,” Akira says simply.

Goro gapes at him.

“All right? That’s it? All you can say is ‘all right?’”

“Well, I know that you don’t want to kill me, and there isn’t anything I can do to change the past, exactly, so I figure the best thing for me to do is accept your statement. And besides, it sounds like you didn’t want to feel like that. You even said so yourself. Am I right?” Akira gives him the ice cream and doesn’t let him answer the question. “Let’s move on. Ask me something now.”

Goro reluctantly obeys. Fortunately he already knows the question he’d like to ask. “Did you like me, back then?”

“You’re going to have to elaborate on what you mean by that,” Akira says.

“Did you like spending time with me? Or—I don’t know. Did you like me as a person, with everything else aside?”

Akira taps his lip with his index finger a few times; Goro clenches the spoon in his hand as if it’s some sort of lifeline keeping him attached to earth.

“You were very interesting,” Akira settles on. “You were charming, too, but in your own special way. You know how in movies the really charming suave guy always acts a certain way? And he’s kind of stupid? You weren’t like that. I could also tell that you weren’t happy very often, especially on the days when you stayed so late at Leblanc.”

“Thank you for the character analysis, but this isn’t answering my question.”

“Be patient,” Akira says. He beckons for the ice cream and Goro pulls it closer to himself.

“You only get ice cream when you answer a question.” He points his spoon at Akira. “That’s a rule I’ve just thought up. Think of it as an incentive of sorts.”

“Fine, that’s fair.” Akira huffs and rests his chin in his hand. “I did like you. I don’t know if you liked me—”

“I did, but I’m not sure if you’ll believe me just saying that. I—admittedly, it’s a bit more complicated than that. I did like you, I promise I did. I liked you as a human being, but I hated what you had because I didn’t have it.”

“I understand, somewhat. I liked you, and liked talking to you, and then I found out your plan, but I still liked you. I mean, I still liked… seeing you and interacting with you. You were funny. And it made me feel strange, because everybody else was reacting differently than me.” Pause. “I think I kept ‘liking’ you because I could see part of myself in you. Maybe. Probably some other things, too, but I haven’t figured them out yet.”

“I feel the same way,” Goro says, and his voice is plain. Perhaps plainer than it should be, actually.

Akira’s eyes scrunch up at the corners, as though his own answer has upset himself. “Well, anyway, it’s my turn now.” Goro opens his mouth to protest the change of topic, but Akira is quicker than him. “I want to know why you felt you had to… uh, do all that stuff. Didn’t you—you knew what you were doing, right?”

Of course he knew. That’s a silly question. In Goro’s mind, this is a silly question; perhaps in retrospect it isn’t that much of an asinine thing to ask because of the surrounding circumstances, but—well.  

If Goro had a palace _now_ —would the Metaverse still exist—he thinks it would have transformed from whatever it was when he was seventeen into a morgue. He would be the mortician, and the shadows would target him, not any intruders. He would be the enemy in his own palace. The shadows would be the dead.

The dead follow him everywhere.

They’re with him when he wakes up, when he showers, when he buys food at the grocery story, when he sits and reads at work, when he goes to bed—they’re always there. They sit on his shoulders and whisper into his ear and cradle him. They tell him secrets about their families and home life and urge him to step in front of moving cars.

The dead follow him everywhere.

The only place they do not follow him are his dreams, because the living follow him there. The only exception to this rule is his mother. He doesn’t dream about her often anymore, and he isn’t sure why, but he doesn’t want to think about it. He hardly, hardly remembers what her voice sounds like.

He wishes there was something that could tell him. A voicemail sent from the past. A ghost. Anything at all.

“I was sick,” Goro says, unsure where else to start. “I was really sick. And of course I knew what I was doing, but I couldn’t stop once I’d started, because that would bring about more problems.”

He clasps his hands together and sets them on top of the table.

“When I approached Shido originally, I had no intention of hurting anybody. I never had the intention of hurting anybody at all. I hope you recognize that, at least, but I suppose if you don’t I won’t be terribly offended.”

He sighs, and Akira nods him on.

“I was simply offering my powers. You know, as a way to get closer to him, so he’d keep me around.” Something sour is growing in Goro’s mouth. He doesn’t like talking about Shido. “Like I said: I didn’t _want_ to hurt anybody. I know about the permanence of death, you know. I saw my mother dead.”

Akira doesn’t say anything.

“But he had me use my powers for the mental shutdowns eventually. I’m not sure how I didn’t see that inevitability, just from… the disposition of how things were.” He waves a hand around when he says this, as if it’ll add some sort of feeling to the monotonous words falling out of his mouth. “And Shido—I’m sure you know that he has a cleaner. If I didn’t do what he said, I’d end up in a ditch somewhere, dead, and my body wouldn’t ever be found. I had to… get back at him before that happened to me. After that, I would have been perfectly content with that ending. I’d prefer it, actually. People shouldn’t pay their respects to me.”

Akira still says nothing.

Goro sighs again. He shouldn’t have said that; he should leave his own little pity feelings out of this for the time being. “In short, yes, I knew what I was doing. I was no better than all the people I hated, maybe. I’m not trying to make excuses, either, or victimize myself, although it may sound like I am.” He twiddles his thumbs together. There’s an ugly lump in Goro’s throat that feels like a stone and his mouth tastes like bile. “I was very sick and very blinded.”

For a long, long minute, Akira only looks at the ice cream while he uselessly digs into it with his spoon. Goro can’t tell what he’s thinking. Akira has a poker face that rivals the best gamblers in the world; he is so good at masking how he feels in a way that is so different from how Goro does. He becomes nothing. Goro becomes everything.

“Thank you,” is all Akira says. His voice is like acrylic.

“Oh, um,” Goro starts, but doesn’t finish. He refuses to say _you’re welcome._ Not for something like this; and so instead he worries his lip and waits for Akira to speak again.

“I’m sorry about the way things turned out,” Akira says quietly. He’s put the lid on the ice cream and slides it to the side of the table. “We could have helped you.”

Goro smiles sadly and shakes his head. He, too, has entertained the idea of the Thieves miraculously saving him from himself and his father, but he knows he wouldn’t have accepted their help, because even in the very end on that stupid ship he hadn’t accepted it. When it was life and death—his own life and death—he couldn’t accept help. Not from anyone, and certainly not from the Phantom Thieves and their justice and their bravery and their tears.   

“You couldn’t have helped me,” he explains. The edges of his eyes feel like someone is pressing a needle into them. “I wouldn’t have let you. I would have… refused it, killed myself, threatened something. I shouldn’t—”

And he stops, then, and closes his eyes, because if he keeps going he knows he will throw up.

“Maybe that’s what it felt like,” Akira whispers. His voice sounds the way it does in Goro’s dreams. “But I think about it sometimes anyway.”

“No use in thinking about hypotheticals,” Goro mumbles. And he would know: his brain’s favorite hypothetical is _if only we had met years earlier. If only. If only._

There is something on Goro’s hands, then, and only when he opens his eyes does he confirm that Akira has reached out to him.

Leblanc is quiet. Crickets chirp outside.

“Why did you ask me to go to the museum?” Goro asks, finally making eye contact. He doesn’t mean to stray the conversation to something debatably less serious, but if there’s a good time to ask this specific question, it’s right now. “Ah—actually, why do you ask me to go anywhere at all with you? Please don’t give me some bogus answer.”

Akira simply deadpans, staring at the table as if the question were a tranquilizer dart that has just hit him in the chest. “Goro,” he says, and his voice is that of a teacher slowly explaining something to their student, “you are undeniably a very smart person. But please—please tell me that you’re not this dense.”

Goro blinks, quite startled. “Dense?”

“Do I really need to answer it for you? Is it that difficult to figure out?”

It isn’t that difficult, of course. Goro already knows the answer—it doesn’t take a detective to solve this one—but he doesn’t want to accept it. Akira absolutely cannot feel anything towards him other than that of friendship, because if he does, an entire vault of problems opens up. Goro wants Akira to be with someone that will make him happy, not with someone that is nothing more than a constant source of stress.

Maybe he’s overthinking this. Maybe Akira—maybe it _is_ only feelings of friendship, and Goro is so desperate for someone to love—to like—him in a particular way that his brain is making things up. He’s reading into things too much, of course, that’s it. Akira just likes being social. He’s this way with everyone.

Goro knows that he’s changed; he knows that he doesn’t harbor malicious feelings towards Akira. He also knows that what Morgana said in the engine room was right—he did like Akira. He always has.

But.

Akira has done nothing but given Goro relentless kindness and patience. And what has Goro given him in return? All of the wrong things. The wrong words, the wrong sentences, the wrong feelings, the wrong everything. Goro is wrong. He wants to be good so, so much, but knows that he will never be good. He can pretend to be a hero all he wants in his head, but in the end, he is nothing more than something lying in the way of Akira’s happiness.

That’s what he thinks, anyway.

Goro doesn’t deserve anything good.

Blood starts pouring down the walls of Leblanc.

Akira’s blood, Goro’s blood, the blood of victims, the blood of parents, the blood of the city.

Vaguely, Goro thinks about what a failure he is, and it’s almost sort of comedic. Everything is his fault, every tragedy, every drop of blood. He imagines all the violence happening again, imagines it—

“Whoa, hey, stop that,” a voice says from a space vacuum. “Goro, open your eyes.”

The voice belongs to Akira, obviously. Goro fizzes back into reality, opening his eyes slowly, and regains his senses in a painfully gradual manner, realizing that there is in fact no blood on the walls, nor was there any in the first place.

Akira is standing next to him at the table now, hand outstretched and gripping Goro’s wrist in a way that’s a bit too concerning. He looks at Akira, whose eyes are wide and eyebrows are knit with worry.

“Did something happen?” Goro asks, feeling a bit stupid. The question was asked honestly; if he didn’t know himself any better it would have sounded like he was joking around and feigning obliviousness. But he isn’t.

Although it seems impossible, Akira’s face scrunches up even more, to the point where Goro can’t tell what emotion he is trying to express. “Uh, yeah,” is all he replies with, unhelpfully.

“Do you mind elaborating on that?” Goro’s eyes dart to his wrist. “And please let go of me, if you would.”

Reluctantly, Akira lets go of his hand and continues standing at the end of the table, tapping his fingers against one another as if he isn’t sure whether or not he should sit back down yet. He makes a movement to sit back down, but instead of sitting he grabs the ice cream container and heads back into the kitchen. He sticks the ice cream into the freezer and shuts the door, holding onto the handle and staring at the exterior.

“Did I do something wrong?” Goro asks, hesitant, voice riddled in—perturbation, perhaps. “You’re… concerning me.”

“Sorry,” Akira immediately replies, a bit too quick. He stares at the booth, sighs, and sits back down in his original spot after what seems like a very large amount of deliberation. “You didn’t do anything wrong… per se.”

“‘Per se?’” Goro laughs, and he knows it’s an inappropriate time to do so but can’t help it. “You sound like me.”

“I wasn’t trying to.” Something ripples across his face; Goro can’t tell what it is.

“You’ve been spending too much time with me, it seems.”

Akira taps his index finger against the table. It’s a bit more of a jab than a tap, actually. “No such thing as too much time.”

“I hate to stray from this topic, but can you please explain why you just spent a substantial amount of time staring forlornly at the refrigerator?”

“Oh, well.” Akira looks to the side, just past Goro’s head, and then resumes eye contact. “You scared me a little.”

“Wonderful development,” he mumbles in response, hopefully too low for Akira to hear, because he wishes he could take back the words the minute he says them. “I’m still going to need further explaining.”

“You just… started saying things.”

“I started… ‘saying things?’”

Goro is trying very hard to not laugh again, because he knows that he shouldn’t, and he can tell that Akira is worried, but this is the first time this has happened in public and it’s all just a bit comedic.

“I didn’t really get what you were saying,” Akira admits. “Sorry. But then you started trying to—”

“—peel off my skin?”

“No, I wouldn’t put it like that.” Akira’s nose crinkles funnily. “Just, kind of—scratching your hand. That’s why I was holding your arm. Sorry if it freaked you out.”

“Oh, will you stop apologizing for being concerned about me? You’re one of the first to do so, trust me.”

Akira makes a breathy noise, almost like it was an attempt at laughter but with no follow through. “Right, yeah. I just… yeah.”

Goro sighs quietly, looking at his hands before dropping them to his lap. This is pathetic, really; not on Akira’s part, but on his own. Pathetic behavior, pathetic reactions, pathetic presence overall. Akira had meant to only be helpful tonight, and here Goro is, going and fucking everything up just as he always does—

“Don’t think too hard,” Akira says gently.

“I am not thinking too hard,” Goro snaps, head quickly jerking up. Akira doesn’t move a muscle, and there is something about the way that his eyes soften that drops a metaphorical brick straight into Goro’s stomach.

“I apologize,” he says, shoulders tensing.

“Don’t worry about it.” Akira gives a little wave and continues onto another subject. “I have to bring it up again, though. What just happened?”

“Did you not gather from my reaction that I don’t know either? If you didn’t, I’m telling you directly right now: I don’t know what happened.”

Akira makes a rather perturbed face. “That’s… definitely… concerning.”

“It happens sometimes, if I linger too long on… things.”

“That’s even more concerning. You should have said something”

A cold sensation hits Goro in the chest, but only for a moment. He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore; it has lost its hilarity. “Don’t worry about it. This is my own silly problem, you didn’t do anything. I think we should forget about it, truthfully.”

Something flashes across Akira’s face, and Goro cannot quite pinpoint what it is—hesitation, maybe. Whatever it is, Goro knows that Akira does not like this suggestion, and knows that he will probably refuse it. “We can forget about it if you really want to, but I don’t think that’s the best choice.”

That answer is better than what Goro was expecting. Reasonable, he supposes, looking at it from an outsider’s perspective.

Goro sits up straighter, as if it will help his case. “Well, _I_ think that it’s the best choice.” He’s been using his sweet voice throughout this whole thing, but then it dips into seriousness: “Please allow me to forget about this shame. I would greatly appreciate it.”

Akira worries his lip, clearly apprehensive, but admits defeat nevertheless. “All right, fine. For now we can forget about it,” he whispers. “But only for now. This isn’t something to—”

“I know, trust me. I’m fully aware.”

Akira looks at the table, then Goro, then the table again before he sighs and seems to accept this answer. Something obviously troubling is clouding his brain, what with the way his eyes unfocus themselves when he sets his hands on top of his knees. He looks like a statue, sitting like that, face contorted in a strange and unfamiliar way, fingers clenching and unclenching.

“Goro,” he suddenly says, “can I tell you something?”

 _Please don’t_. “Sure.”

Akira sighs. “Whatever you’re thinking, you need to push it away.”

Goro blinks once, twice. “Excuse me?” he asks.

“You need to get out of your head,” he says, still unhelpful. “Whenever you think badly about yourself, I can see it all over your face. I can tell that you’re haunting yourself. And I can’t stop you from feeling however you feel, but, god, Goro—can’t you see how concerning all this is? From my perspective, at least?”

“Perhaps,” Goro says stupidly, not wanting to admit that Akira is right.

“Enough with the ‘perhaps.’ You—it’s been two years since all those... bad things happened. You’re not the person you were then, and I’m not the person I was then. We have grown and changed. Everyone has grown and changed. So just… stop mentally going back in time, all right? Stay in the present. You’re not who you were. I think it’s important to address what you did but dwelling on it so much is… honestly, it’s probably going to make it worse.”

“I don’t know how you’re able to simply label everything as _those bad things,_ ” Goro replies. “I don’t know how you can stand to be around me, actually. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to see me ever again.”

He is unable to address everything else Akira said.

“Stop, Goro. I’m not trying to be eloquent here. We talked about what happened, didn’t we? We started talking about it, anyway, and a start is just as good as anything else. We can keep talking about it if you want to, but not tonight anymore.” He lets out a tired breath. “For me—for me to understand what happened, and for me to come to terms with it, I want to be able to move on. I have to be able to move on. But you have to be able to do that too.” He pauses, exhales again. “When you were missing, it felt so incomplete, everything inside of me. But now you’re here, and I want… to start feeling better.”

It’s a very personal thing, coming from Akira.

“I can’t move on,” Goro says quietly. “I want to, but I can’t, not yet. Not for a long time.”

“I know.”

“By the way—please don’t misunderstand me. I do like you.”

“I know. It’s obvious, because you wouldn’t have come in tonight if you didn’t.”

Goro huffs. “This is so annoying,” he says. “It’s all because of my terrible issues.”

“I have issues too, don’t kid yourself. Everyone has issues.”

“That isn’t what I’m trying to say.”

“Then what _are_ you trying to—“

“Sometimes,” Goro interrupts, as something very heavy and marbled sits on top of his heart, “sometimes I feel like I wasn’t born to be loved. I think that it just wasn’t meant for me. I wonder if I was born just for people to use me.” He turns to Akira, then, looking him dead in the eyes like he had in the interrogation room. “Is there any point in living if nobody at all loves you?”

Akira looks like he has just watched someone die.

“Everyone is meant to be loved,” he says ever so softly, reaching out to hold Goro’s hand in his. “I promise. I really, really promise you that.”

Goro stares at their hands. His brain is spinning, ticking, clicking like gears inside of a clock that someone is toying with. He lives in too many time periods at once; he exists as too many ages.

“I just need time,” Goro whispers. “To think about things. To… _get out of my head_ , as you said.”

Akira nods at this, saying nothing else on the subject. Goro appreciates when he does this. He is far too considerate for his own good, always dropping conversations when they become uncomfortable yet still upholding the ability to be perfectly, assertively honest.

Leblanc is quiet in an inexplicable way.

“Let’s go to the train station,” Akira finally says.

* * *

**[8:19 PM] Me:** I need your help with something, if you have the time  
**[8:21 PM] Kitagawa:** I would be happy to help. What is it you need?  
**[8:22 PM] Me:** I need advice on picking out a “gift”  
**[8:22 PM] Me:** “Gift” in the sense that I don’t want it to be serious but at the same time still have it constitute as a present of sorts  
**[8:23 PM] Kitagawa:** Of course. I understand.  
**[8:26 PM] Me:** Are you available Wednesday at noon? We can meet in the Underground Mall  
**[8:27 PM] Kitagawa:** That works fine for me, yes. I will see you then.

* * *

As promised, Yusuke meets with Goro on Wednesday at noon in the Underground Mall. Goro arrives early to their meeting place, and to his surprise, Yusuke is already standing there. He approaches him with hands by his sides.

Truthfully, Goro is surprised that he was able to work up the willpower to ask Yusuke to do this with him. He debated asking Ann, but she’s terrible at keeping secrets and would certainly text Akira at the earliest possible convenience.

Plus, she would be far too enthusiastic about it, and enthusiasm is not what Goro needs. He needs someone with a perspective different from his own. He needs someone that can give him unadulterated honesty.

“You’re here early,” Goro says, giving a small nod of acknowledgement as Yusuke turns his head away from whatever it was he was previously looking at.

“I enjoy spending time around here,” he explains, and he says it so matter-of-factly that Goro can feel it in his chest. “I seem to have acquired the hobby of people watching.”

“I’m not sure I’d call that a hobby,” Goro mumbles, hopefully not loud enough for Yusuke to hear over all the background chatter. He’s trying to be less of a smartass, he really is. “Well, I suppose that means you’ve seen many different kinds of people.”

“There are generally many different kinds of people in the world, yes, so perhaps I have.”

Goro frowns. Was he just sassed?

A change of subject is probably in order. He crosses his arms over his chest and says, “Thank you for taking the time to meet up with me, regardless.”

“It’s not a problem. I apologize for my nosiness, but why must you buy a gift?” Yusuke asks, leaning against the wall, scanning the crowds of people walking through the mall.

“I don’t have… a solid explanation I can give as to that. It’s something that needs to function as a make-up gift.” Pause. _Function_ was an interesting word to use. “Sort of. But not exactly.”

“And you thought that I would be best equipped to help you find something? Why is that?”

Goro frowns. He wasn’t prepared to be asked these questions, but he supposes that in the context of everything, they shouldn’t be so surprising.

“I just—thought you’d have the better insight out of everyone else. Not that—not that I’m trying to say everyone else would have bad insight, of course, I only figured…” Goro’s voice dies down as he trails off, realizing that this train of speech is leading him nowhere.

Yusuke turns to him, eyes focused in that serious way of his. He looks Goro up and down and says nothing for a moment, perhaps mentally processing Goro’s sweating and unusual nervousness.

Goro wonders if he has said something wrong. He can’t tell. He picks his nail.

“Pardon my assumption,” Yusuke says, and Goro metaphorically buckles himself in, “but is this gift for Akira?”

There are, of course, two different ways that Goro can answer this. The first is to lie and say _no, it isn’t for Akira, I yelled at my manager the other day and feel the need to buy her a gift for unpragmatic purposes_ . His second option is to say _yes, it’s for Akira, and it’s a long story as to why I’m buying him something and would rather not share it despite how suspicious that might seem._

Lying would be so easy, so simple. He wouldn’t have to worry about being embarrassed and he wouldn’t have to worry about Yusuke reacting in an upsetting way.

But lying would also be extremely stupid. He asked Yusuke for help because he _knows_ Akira—not his manager. He knows what Akira likes and doesn’t like. Additionally, it’s morally better to tell the truth. That’s what Goro tells himself in the one second it takes for him to decide how to respond to Yusuke’s question.

Goro is essentially an adult. Essentially. He can be honest about this; there isn’t a reason to be ashamed. Yusuke’s lip isn’t going to curl up in disgust and say _I don’t know what you’re thinking, I_ ** _need_** _this_ ** _don e_** _b y_ _tonight, you _**_know_** _that w_ ** _e ’r_** _e on a ti_ _ght_ _s ch_ ** _e_** _dule,_ ** _you kno w_** _that if yo_ ** _u_** _don’t_ _get_ ** _th_** _is d one im **m**_ _ **e** diately I_ ** _’l_** _l—_

Goro closes his eyes and reminds himself of where he is and who he is talking to. Not everybody is Shido.

“Are you all right, Akechi-kun?” Yusuke asks, voice tugging Goro out of his head like a fishhook. Unlike Akira, though, he doesn’t touch Goro’s shoulder or his arm and his eyes don’t linger, either.

“Oh, I’m fine, I apologize. I was simply remembering something,” he says, voice even. “Yes, it’s for Akira. You know him well, so I wanted your opinion on what I should get him.”

Yusuke gives a pensive _hmmm._ He looks away from Goro and back to the people walking about the stores. “But you are friends with him as well, aren’t you?”

“I… suppose I am. But I haven’t known him nearly as long as you have.”

“That does not make a difference. The way you perceive him as a person is much different from how I perceive him.”

This is sounding a lot like that spiel he gave at the museum. “I suppose that’s true, but—”

“—but nothing,” Yusuke interrupts, and Goro nearly does a double take at his forwardness. “If this is a gift of consolidation or confession, it should come from a place in you, not me. After all, you are the one that has the thoughtfulness of getting him something, no?”

“Maybe,” Goro says vaguely, going over Yusuke’s advice in his head.

He has a point, of course. It isn’t really a gift from Goro if he’s merely going off what Yusuke tells him to buy. Goro sees Akira differently from Yusuke, and Ann sees him differently, and Ryuji, and Haru, and so on and so forth.

It really shouldn’t be this deep. This was a stupid idea.

“Maybe?” Yusuke’s eyebrow raises.

“I just wanted to get it right,” Goro admits with a sigh. “I wanted it to be something Akira likes. Something he wants.”

“You don’t have to worry about that very much with Akira. And as I said—you know him in your own certain way. So if you see something you think he may like, then it is more than likely an acceptable thing to give him. I am not quite sure if you remember his old room, but most of the items in there were tacky presents that served no real practical function. I think, Akechi-kun, that you are overthinking this much more than is needed,” Yusuke says. In a different year, or a different month, Goro might have found this all to be very condescending, but he probably needs to hear it now.

Goro remembers Akira’s words. He has to get out of his head. Things are different now. Things have changed! No reason to be scared!

It is a difficult concept to grasp. Change. Acceptance. The works. The ideas vaguely swim around in his head but have nothing to latch onto.

“What if he doesn’t like it?” Goro asks despite himself.

“I must be honest with you,” Yusuke says slowly. “I fully believe that Akira would be happy to receive anything from you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Akira is generally happy to receive any gift from any person, with some exceptions, of course. And as you told me earlier, I know him well. And from the way I know him, and from the way he speaks about you to us—I think he would appreciate anything at all from you. That is my opinion on the matter.” He sniffs. “You are free to take it as you like.”

“Oh,” Goro says, feeling very stupid.

There are a few things he has taken away from this, first and foremost being that Akira talks positively about Goro to his friends, and second being that Akira talks about Goro in general. Akira _thinks_ about Goro, is perhaps the better phrasing for it, and something about that realization makes Goro’s heart click into place in a very particular way that he isn’t sure he’s quite comfortable confronting yet.

The third thing to take away from this is that Goro has done quite a large and unnecessary amount of overthinking today.

Yusuke clears his throat and Goro becomes aware that he has, once again, started spacing out.

“Um—yes?” he asks, thankfully avoiding sounding impatient.  

“Pardon me for being nosy, but why are you buying him something? The reason you gave earlier was quite flimsy. It must be something important, as you are making this quite a bigger deal than it really needs to be.”

“I—no I am not. I’m just not used to buying people things in this way.”

“What does ‘in this way’ mean?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know how it works!” Goro half-shouts, obtaining a few glances from other people in the process, and immediately hating himself for doing it. He had invited Yusuke out, and here he is, yelling at him for giving advice and listening to his awful boy problems.

Boy problems. Is that what he’s calling it now? Because that is certainly not what he wants to call them. He should call them _friendship_ problems, or maybe _behavior_ problems, but they don’t quite have the same feeling.

“There isn’t a specific manner to do it. Akechi-kun, do not avoid my question—why is this so important that you have gone out of your way and asked me for advice?”

Goro covers his face with his hands. He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore, it’s humiliating, it’s annoying, but he owes Yusuke an answer because—because of—  

“I apologize if that came across as rude,” Yusuke says calmly. His voice is steady as ever.

“No, it’s fine.” Goro sighs and removes his hands, staring at his palms before dropping them to his sides. If he can’t even pin exactly why he feels the need to buy Akira a gift, then what’s the point of getting him anything at all?

Perhaps he’s going about this all wrong. It feels artificial, but he doesn’t mean for it to be.

“It’s just… for Akira,” he says, frowning. “Not as an apology, that would be wildly inappropriate. There’s just… I have to get him something; that’s what people do. I…”

Goro stops.

He _is_ going about this all wrong. In more ways than one.

To start, he doesn’t know why he’s buying Akira anything. It’s an unnatural gesture and completely unprecedented. In a different context, it would be fine to do so, but in this one—it’s only going to come across as stiff and strange and perhaps a bit too rehearsed.

“What do you mean when you say ‘that’s what people do?’” Yusuke asks, but Goro is hardly paying attention to what he’s saying. He touches his hand to his chin and exhales slowly through his nose.

Yusuke starts to reach his arm out. “Akechi-kun—”

“I don’t know how relationships work,” Goro blurts. He has to resist the urge to clap a hand over his mouth, because this was absolutely not what he had intended to say; Yusuke’s hand freezes mid-air, outstretched, in an almost comical way before he retracts it back to his side.

Yusuke’s eyebrows raise practically past his hairline. “Relationships?”  

“Um, yes. Friendships…” Goro finds himself trailing off, then, stupidly and obvious. He prays Yusuke doesn’t understand the vague underlying implications of this, because Goro doesn’t think he could explain how he feels about Akira, nor does he have any desire to acknowledge and interpret it either.

“I do not believe that there is a specific way to have a ‘friendship.’ It works in many ways. It can be anything you would like it to be as long as it is honest and true.” Yusuke tilts his head ever so slightly.

Goro feels like he is being spoken to as if he were a toddler, what with the way Yusuke is wording everything.

“Akechi-kun, what things do you find beautiful?” he then asks, plain and unaffected as ever.

This question takes Goro completely aback. He’s still swimming in his own foolishness, unable to comprehend how blinded he’s been by his unnecessary need to act like someone he isn’t. People aren’t structured in the way Goro thinks that they are: unlike mathematics and economics and talk shows, human beings do not need to abide to constant formulas and scripts.

Everybody is different. Every reaction is different. Goro doesn’t have to adhere to the conforming nonsense he has built up in his head because the time and place for that nonsense has long passed—and the fact of the matter is that Akira has already seen Goro without his cloaked identity. He has seen Goro in such a wide variety of ways, from screaming to crying to laughing and everything in between. He has witnessed so many fragments of Goro but rarely the full picture, because Goro doesn’t let him. Or, rather—he isn’t sure how to. The nonsense, the mask—it has built up like concrete.  

Akira has already _seen_ who Goro could be, and he still is with him. He likes him for who he is, fragmented and all. He likes him despite everything, incomprehensibly. Perhaps comprehensively.

Goro is so stupid.

“Akechi-kun?” Yusuke asks, voice ripping through Goro’s train of thought like a paper shredder.

“Ah, excuse me. What were you saying?”

Yusuke shuffles his feet. “I asked what things you find beautiful.”

“Oh, yes. Right.” Goro pauses, giving himself time consider the question. Of course he has thought about this before, as every other human being has, but the Underground Mall doesn’t necessarily feel like the best place to discuss it. He does want to give an at least somewhat adequate answer, though, considering that they’re already here. “You—you tell me first,” he says.

“Hmm, all right. I obviously find many paintings and sculptures beautiful, as do many people. I also find things such as wind coming through my window and oil stains to be beautiful as well. I think orange peels are quite beautiful, in the way that they function in comparison to the fruit itself.” He breathes, clearly enamored. “There are nearly no limits to beauty. I’m no professional, but it is what I feel based on experience. There are obvious exceptions.”

Exceptions. Experience. “If that’s the case, then I think... “ Goro looks down at his feet and then back at Yusuke, “...then I think churches are… beautiful. Not in a religious sense, just because of the atmosphere it creates.”

“What else?”

Goro puts a hand on his chin. “Hearing birds in the morning. I like to see that things are still happening around me—normal things—even when I don’t feel normal.” He blinks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be personal.”

“It’s quite all right,” Yusuke says, and something flashes in his eyes. “I understand. Often, even hearing the sound of birds is enough to remember that although there are bad things happening, the world is still the same, more or less. Life goes on, as the saying may go.”

“May go,” Goro mumbles, too quiet for Yusuke to hear. He finds the way he mixed up the phrasing somewhat endearing.

He clears his throat. “I apologize for dragging you all the way out here, by the way.”

“It isn’t a problem. I have nothing to do today, and I rather like the process of gift giving, although I assume you no longer plan to buy anything.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Goro says, and as he speaks he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He takes it out to look quickly.

 **[12:32 N] Akira:** do you wanna see a movie later? i’ll pay :P

Goro can’t help it. He covers his mouth to hide his smile.

“Will you be needing any more of my assistance, then?” Yusuke asks, pushing himself off the wall. Goro’s head snaps up from his phone; he had forgotten that Yusuke was standing there in the half second it took to read Akira’s message.

“Um, no. But thank you for meeting me anyway. I wasn’t sure you would come.”

Yusuke looks him straight in the eye; it is so intimidating that Goro nearly loses his grip on his phone and drops it. “Akechi-kun, I want you to know that I do not hate you,” he says. Goro’s insides turn to paste.

“Ah,” he manages, and wonders how many times he’s said that in the past thirty minutes. “I feel like saying this is a bit arbitrary, but I don’t hate you either, despite all my behavior.”

“I know you don’t hate me,” Yusuke says simply, straightforwardly. A lump of anxiety wraps itself tight around Goro’s larynx, coiling around his vocal cords in an almost maniacal way.

“I’m, um, glad.” Goro feels like such an idiot today. He knows he’s a bit awkward, deep down, but this is pathetic. He quickly grabs at the coherency in the back of his brain and asks, “By the way, why did you ask me what things I found beautiful?”

And Yusuke looks at him, then, differently than he has all afternoon, eyes less serious and introspective and more gentle and sincere.

It feels like a turning point, inexplicably.

“It is something I have been thinking about,” Yusuke says slowly. “The other day, I was at the park with Akira. I was painting something; he was reading. We had a similar conversation as the one you and I are having now. Akira asked if it was weird that he thought you were beautiful. I said no, and asked why it would be weird. He didn’t give a clear answer.”

The lump in Goro’s throat swells, but it isn’t nervousness anymore. It is something entirely different; goosebumps raise on his skin and a tingly sensation settles in the pit of his stomach.

“It simply made me see things differently,” Yusuke continues. “Wonderful how single sentences can change a person’s entire perspective.”

“Yeah,” Goro says slowly. “You’re right.”

He takes out his phone again.

 **[12:40 N] Me:** Please don’t pay for me  
**[12:40 N] Me:** But yes, I’ll come  
**[12:40 N] Me:** What time?  
**[12:41 N] Akira:** 5 pm? we can get food before. meet at lbc  
**[12:41 N] Me:** That’s good for me  
**[12:41 N] Me:** I’ll see you then

Goro’s heart is warm, and he is only slightly embarrassed when he sees the look on Yusuke’s face.


	4. it can only be found now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for referenced past suicidal ideation
> 
> (by the way, thank you so much for all the kind comments so far!)

A few days later, Goro finds himself in Sakura Sojiro’s house, which is definitely a first, and something he definitely has not ever pictured himself doing.

On the night of he and Akira’s movie “date” (he isn’t quite sure how to label it, really—they almost held hands in the theater, fingers just barely touching each others’ on the armrest), Akira informed Goro that Futaba wanted to invite him over for the night.

_ Not just you _ , he had reassured.  _ Ann and myself will be there too. _

And Goro had asked, of course,  _ Is there something that prompted this?  _ to which Akira responded with  _ I don’t think so, but I didn’t ask her directly. _

Goro isn’t sure if he believes that.

Under any other context, he would have said no. He would have said he was busy, would have pretended to get sick the day of, et cetera, et cetera. But because his life is wildly spiraling in a direction he did not intend for his life to spiral in, and he’s interested in seeing where this goes, Goro had said  _ Okay, sure.  _ Verbatim, in the echo of the movie theater. And that was that. 

It is strange, not calculating his every move. Stepping out of his comfort zone.

Goro hates that phrase.

Though, he supposes that in a sense he is still calculating all of his movements, because despite accepting Futaba’s invitation, he spent a long while coming up with various scenarios that might play out while he is there. In the house. There in the house. 

It was rather unnecessary, thinking about it now, because Goro has learned time and time again that he cannot predict the Phantom Thieves’ actions.

And so—here he is, as mentioned, sitting in Sakura Sojiro’s house. He’s on the couch, to be specific, between the armrest and Akira. Ann sits at the other end and Futaba splays herself on a chair placed next to Ann that she dragged out from somewhere. She’s playing a video game; Goro isn’t paying attention to the television because Akira’s showing him an article about the world’s largest grown vegetables. Goro doesn’t care about the vegetables in particular, he only cares about Akira’s facial expressions and how in disbelief he seems to be. 

It is certainly  _ not _ charming, nor endearing, nor is it cute. It’s just—fascinating. That’s what is it; that is why Goro is paying more attention to Akira than the article. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t noticed how fast time is passing, either. They’ve been sitting in this same spot the whole time, before Futaba came downstairs from her nap and before Ann arrived. Sojiro is a nice man and left them alone, only peeking at them from the hall every now and then.

It’s already dark outside. They arrived only an hour and a half ago, opting to spend the earlier part of the day back at the stupid fishing hole. Goro caught two fish this time and was very proud of himself, and Akira let him boast even though he had caught eight and had marginally better technique overall.

Futaba promised that Sojiro would make them something, and so they didn’t get dinner, which felt a bit odd because nowadays they usually eat together. Goro isn’t sure what to make of that fact, although he can guess its implications, at least in a moderately vague way. He’s far too emotionally stunted to fully think it out completely, but he knows this: when it is himself and Akira, out together, just the two of them—Goro is happy. And that’s enough acknowledgement for now.

It’s impossible to let himself want…  _ that.  _ It’s impossible to let himself want the implications of the happiness. The implications, the implications, the implications. That word makes Goro think of talkshows.

Akira finishes the article just as Sojiro comes in with food. He sets two plates on the table, grunting as he leans down, says, “I’ll be back with the rest,” and then disappears. 

Akira gestures for Futaba and Ann to take the food and so they do without argument, which Goro finds surprising for some reason. They all seem the type to fight over who should eat first and so on, but apparently his intuition about Akira’s friends is wrong yet again. He is sure that it will continue to be wrong for a while, or at the very least until he starts to sort himself out.

Which, truthfully, is too great of a task to work on for the time being.

Futaba pauses the game and switches over to the television, flipping through the channels in search of nothing in particular. “I can’t play and eat at the same time,” she explains. “Sorry that we have to take a break from the interesting stuff.”

“The interesting stuff, huh?” Ann asks, raising her eyebrow a little bit.

Futaba nods. “It’s interesting because I’m good at playing video games. TV isn’t interesting because I can’t do anything about the boring content.”

There really isn’t anything utterly fascinating on. Futaba goes through multiple weather channels, baseball games, movies, a gameshow, one nature documentary, until she settles on  _ Godzilla  _ and then promptly picks up her plate and eats.

Sojiro returns with two other plates and Akira takes them from him, passing one to Goro in an awkward fashion because of their close proximity. 

Close proximity is perhaps an understatement. Their knees are definitely pressed together, and Akira is essentially leaning over Goro. But it’s because he had to show Goro the article—that’s why. It’s because of the article.  

“Don’t spill anything on the floor,” Sojiro says, eyeing everyone through his glasses. “Or I’ll make you scrub the whole house.” He gives an extra glance at Akira and Goro but says nothing.

There is a mumbled  _ we won’t  _ before he leaves once again.

Although Futaba invited him over, Goro can’t help but feel so incredibly intrusive. It’s nerve wracking, being in Sojiro’s house; it feels like something he shouldn’t be allowed to do. But Sojiro has made no move to kick him out nor has he made any disapproving facial expressions, so—Goro will take this with all he has. 

Even if there is some level of discomfort, he’s attempting to ignore it for the time being in favor of paying attention to everyone here instead. He thinks that it’s pretty fair for him to do that right now; he thinks it’s pretty fair for him to think about things other than the  _ this _ and  _ that _ of Those-Years-Ago. In his head, that period of time has got its own special name, as if it were trademarked.

Maybe that isn’t a thought he should pick up. If he ever intends on actually living more fully in the present, perhaps he should stop naming things and making them even more significant.

Goro wishes he could have a do over sometimes ( _ more than sometimes _ ). He wishes for a lot of things, but that is one wish that has specifically been on his mind lately. If he had a do-over, having  _ feelings  _ (or whatever these unspecified ones are) for Akira would be less stressful. Doing all these things and accepting hugs and little shoulder touches would be less, less, less less less less stressful.

Hypotheticals are, as always, completely useless. 

They all eat and watch the movie, and Ann comments nearly every minute on something going on. It figures that she would be a movie-talker. Her commentary isn’t all that annoying, though, like typical movie-talkers. It’s funny. Goro is laughing. He’s laughing, watching a movie, sitting on Sakura Sojiro’s couch and eating his food, Akira is leaning against him warm and comfortable, and it is an entirely new experience in a multitude of ways.

Goro has never slept over at anyone’s house before, because he’s never had any type of friendship that warranted that type of thing. The most  _ friendship  _ he has ever had was his brief time with the Phantom Thieves (though Goro doesn’t allow himself to call that a friendship, certainly not) and his relationship with Sae.

Goro’s relationship with Sae is—it isn’t complicated per se, but rather hard to label. They were definitely friends, albeit it was in a more professional sense and setting. They had lunch and occasionally dinner together yet both of them rarely delved into the innerworkings of their personal lives; Goro did not because of obvious reasons, and Sae probably didn’t because Goro was a teenager. 

A teenager.

Goro closes his eyes for a moment and decides to stop thinking about this, just for a little while, because this isn’t the time nor the place to be doing that kind of thinking. Now is the time to be at Sakura Sojiro’s house, and to watch this movie, and to listen to Ann’s comments and Futaba’s giggling and Akira’s soft laughter.

Now is the time to just  _ be _ . For a little, little while.

A short while into the movie—after they have all finished their meals and stacked the plates uselessly on the table—Goro feels something touch his side. At first he has to resist the urge to jump, because it’s such a sudden sensation and Goro has never really liked surprises. At least, he never really liked getting them himself.

It only takes him a second, though, to realize that it’s Akira’s arm wrapping around him, like he had at the museum. This time, though, it’s a bit different; it’s more gentle, less hesitant, like Akira knows what he’s doing for certain and isn’t going to regret it—which may very well be the case. 

Friends don’t really do this sort of thing, as far as Goro knows. He isn’t well versed in these things, mind you, but he doesn’t see Akira tentatively touch Ann’s fingers, longing for a true grasp, and he doesn’t see him hold Ryuji by the waist, and he doesn’t see him look at Yusuke or Makoto the way he looks at Goro sometimes, and he doesn’t see— 

Akira acts differently around him. The touches are different.

Goro thinks that maybe—just maybe—because he is at Sakura Sojiro’s house, and because he is  _ being,  _ that he can act differently too.

He snakes his arm behind Akira, arm resting against his lower back. He can feel Akira tense through his forearm, can feel his spine shock itself and straighten out, but then he relaxes and Goro’s arm fits nicely. Very nicely. Like it was meant to be there.

_ How unnervingly cheesy. _

From the corner of his eye, Goro can see Futaba staring at him, quirking her eyebrows up once. He does nothing but smile in return.

There must be something about Sojiro’s house, Goro decides fifteen minutes later, that makes him feel bolder. Maybe it’s the mustiness, maybe it’s Godzilla shrieking on the television, maybe it was the food, but it’s something.

He can’t believe himself.

His fingers seek out the end of Akira’s shirt and sneak up underneath it to press against his bare skin, warm and soft—softer than he thought it would be. Noticing this fact only makes Goro cognizant that he’s imagined what Akira’s skin feels like, which is—well. It is certainly indicative.

He watches Futaba switch her game back on, and with  _ Godzilla _ replaced by the calmer atmosphere of the video game’s soundtrack, Goro finds himself relaxing his shoulders a little more. Akira’s fingers are pressing tightly into his side, like he’s a buoy holding Goro afloat on this little grey couch. 

Goro focuses his attention on the television screen and takes a deep, embarrassing internal breath and takes the dive, rubbing circles against Akira’s hip with his fingers, slow and gentle and caring because he does care, he really does care about Akira so much that it hurts when he consciously thinks about it and— 

“I’m going to the bathroom!” Akira suddenly announces, standing up with incredible speed, nearly knocking his elbow into Goro’s face in the process. He hurriedly collects all the empty plates and rushes into the kitchen and for some reason, Goro is pleased with himself. Akira is rarely so outwardly flustered.

It lasts only a few seconds.

“So,” Ann says, turning to face Goro, one hand placed on her knee, “are you dating?”

Goro decides to feign ignorance, though he knows it won’t fool anyone. “Dating who?”

Futaba pauses her game, setting the controller down on the floor. “Don’t act like you don’t know. We’ve already witnessed how shitty you are at acting more than one time.”

Goro’s eye twitches and he looks at his knees.

“Akechi-kun, don’t try and lead Akira into a hole,” Ann warns. “I know you don’t mean anything bad, and I’m sure you know he doesn’t want to trick you or anything, but… don’t do things you don’t feel genuine about.”

“I do feel genuine about him,” Goro says too quickly. So quickly, in fact, that Ann does a double take. “I mean,  _ it _ . I do feel genuine about…  _ it _ .” He worries his lip, trying not to melt under Futaba’s stare. “I just need a little bit of time.”

Needs more time—for what? What is it that Goro is waiting for? 

Is it proof of what Akira feels? Proof that Goro won’t ruin everything? Proof that this isn’t something in his head? Proof that Goro is capable of feeling things himself? 

Quite the mystery for a detective.

Akira was never his, will never be, doesn’t deserve to be. Goro can’t let himself feel anything for him but he  _ does _ and it’s wrong, it’s all wrong, it shouldn’t be like this, shouldn’t— 

“Akechi,” Ann suddenly says, touching her hand to his arm. “Are you okay?”

_ Spiralling,  _ Goro thinks, but says, “Fine,” aloud instead, because there is no way on earth he would say anything else.

“For real, though,” Futaba interjects. She looks like she wants to say something but the words are troubling; her facial expression twists into something strange and distressed. “Akira doesn’t wanna hurt you, so you better not hurt him. Don’t lead him on or anything like that, because that’s not what he’s trying to do either. He really—”

She looks at the ground and sighs. Goro picks at the skin around his fingernails and waits, patient as he’s able to be, despite already knowing the information that Futaba is saying. 

She stop staring at the floor and sniffs a little. It doesn’t seem like she’s crying. It’s more like she’s stalling for time. “I can’t say that I’ll ever be ready to forgive you, and I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

“I am aware,” Goro says hastily, not wanting to—not wanting to do this here, in this exact location. 

“Right.” Futaba shifts around in the chair. “And I honestly have no clue what Akira’s thinking… ever. He’s really closed himself off in the past years.”

“He blamed himself for your death,” Ann adds unhelpfully. All Goro can do is give an exhale.

“...um, anyway,” Futaba coughs, “I know you probably think some dumb thing, like Akira’s faking liking you—as a friend or uh, whatever—but he seriously isn’t. Like, he talks about you all the time. It’s honestly kind of annoying.”

“I’m sure it is,” Goro says grimly. 

She seems to pretend he hadn’t said anything and continues on. “Just don’t play any games here is what I’m trying to say. I think he really wants you to like him. He, uh, cares about you. And if Akira cares about you, then we…” she waves her hands around, “have to too.”

If Akira wants Goro to like him, then that isn’t a problem at all.

“Thank you so much,” he says dully.

“Well, sorry. But I’m making an effort! And you should…” Futaba stops mid sentence, scrunching up her face like crumpled paper, “you should make an effort too! Look… towards the future! Not the past! Look at what you have now, and what it means!”

Her face is slightly red, and Goro can’t tell if it’s because she’s angry, really passionate about this, or embarrassed. He settles for all three, and is about to say something when Akira walks back into the room and settles back in his previous spot. 

“Bathroom was good?” Futaba asks, picking up her controller and unpausing the game as though nothing had happened. 

“Uh huh,” Akira says, narrowing his eyes. “You paused your game to wait for me?”

“No, no, no. We were giving Akechi a lecture on morality, and I had to give it all my attention.” Pause. “Right?”

“Right,” Ann says. 

“Right,” Goro says. It’s pathetic, but there’s something satisfying about being in on a joke rather than being the target of a joke. Though, technically he is partially the target in this, but it’s more satisfying because he’s explicitly aware of it. 

Akira opens his mouth slightly as if to say something, but promptly closes it when Goro puts his arm back around him.

He’s—trying to take Futaba’s advice to heart, because that is the least he can do for her. Something about how she phrased what she said sticks itself to Goro’s heart. 

When did these feelings come about, anyway? He can’t pinpoint an exact moment, but if he had to guess, it would be when he was walking to the museum in Ueno. Goro acutely remembers how the sun hit Akira’s face; he hadn’t ever seen Akira in that way before and it was like a bell chime.

Yes. It was around then when he started  _ feeling  _ things— 

_ (or was it earlier? was it much, much earlier?)  _

—and at the time he wasn’t aware of it, but now he is, although Goro isn’t sure he is able to actually verbalize what he means by  _ feelings.  _ He isn’t sure if he is ready to look himself in the eye and understand what it all means. 

Being kind to himself is difficult. It feels wrong.

“Can we do something multiplayer?” Ann asks, hopping off the couch to go kneel down in front of the television. She searches through the drawers haphazardly. “Half of these don’t even have discs in them.”

“It’s because everything I have is digital now, and those’re all super old. Also, I didn’t really have friends most of my life, so there wasn’t a reason for me to have stuff with multiplayer.” Futaba pauses the game and joins Ann at the foot of the television. She picks something out and waves it around the in air. “We’ll play this. It might break down and explode halfway through, though. Just a warning.”

Then she sticks it in the console and throws two remotes Goro and Akira’s way.

* * *

Eventually they put on another movie—something old, it’s one of Sojiro’s—and shortly after, Akira falls asleep on Goro’s shoulder.

Actually, it is more appropriate to say that Akira is  _ slumped _ against Goro, with his head resting against Goro’s upper arm and hands crossed over his own chest. Futaba slunk upstairs thirty minutes prior to Akira falling asleep, but Ann stayed to “finish watching the movie.”

She turns the television off, probably noticing Goro’s in and out drifting consciousness; he was so drearily focused on the screen that he jolts slightly when it goes black. 

“I’m going to sleep in Futaba’s room,” she tells Goro. “What about you?”

“Um,” he says lamely, unsuccessfully blinking the sleepiness from his eyes, “I suppose I’ll stay here.” 

He is too tired to get up, doesn’t want to wake Akira up, doesn’t know where else to sleep—so staying here seems like the best option. Right? Of course. 

Of course. 

“Do you want a blanket?” Ann asks, a small smile playing itself on her lips. Goro nods; she reaches down underneath the side table and pulls one out and flops it onto Goro’s lap, then purses her lips and looks around the room before throwing a pillow his way as well.

“Thank you,” he says, sounding a bit too genuine than the situation warrants.

Ann bends down in front of Goro so that her head is about level with his chest. She clasps her hands together in front of her, as if in prayer, and tilts her head and smiles. Goro feels his heart speeding up to an incredible velocity; Sojiro’s house is quieter than any other place on earth. The sounds outside become nonexistent. The crickets quiet down completely, anticipating whatever words are to come. 

“Goro,” she says, voice soft, “you deserve to be happy, okay? Almost everybody does.”

His heart stops. No blood flows through his arteries, his veins, it’s all in a standstill—the valves listen in on the conversation by stilling themselves to almost nothing. Ventricles frozen in time, atriums frozen in time.

“Just remember that, all right? If you ever think otherwise… remember it anyway. Even if you don’t believe it. Even if it feels silly, or useless. Because it’s nice to remember that someone has said that to you, at the very least.” Something sparkles in her eyes as she says this, a warm flash of sadness and compassion. This is coming from her heart. “That’s what I think.”

“Okay,” Goro chokes, mentally willing Ann to leave so that he doesn’t begin to panic. Whatever god that is out there listens, apparently, because she stands up, says  _ goodnight,  _ and leaves the living room.

Goro gives himself a minute and a half to calm down and allow his organs to function normally again. He takes deep breaths and closes his eyes like he taught himself to do long ago, and then comes back to reality more or less in one piece.

He glances at Akira, who is still definitely asleep. He unfolded his arms from his chest sometime during Ann’s advice and clutches at Goro’s shirt with one hand. 

Ever so carefully Goro takes off Akira’s glasses and drops them to the floor in the most gentle way he possibly can and proceeds to fix the pillow against the armrest.

It takes a bit of maneuvering, but he manages to wiggle down on the couch to a more supine position. Somehow he hadn’t woken Akira up; maybe he has and Akira is just being kind and pretending to stay asleep. He is half on top of Goro, and has wrapped his arms closer around his abdomen in the shuffling around.

Goro could cry.

He throws the blanket over the two of them and holds Akira back, because he can, and because he is in Sakura Sojiro’s house and still  _ being.  _ The lump in his throat grows and shrinks and grows, as if his brain isn’t sure what to allow him to feel.

Touching is strange. Relationships are strange. Human beings, the way they behave, so out of order and so emotionally driven—it is strange. Goro thought that he had everything and everyone figured out but he realizes that he is so far from it. He will probably never come close to figuring it all out for a long, long time. 

Not every person is bad. Not every person is out there to use him.

He hopes.

Tomorrow—tomorrow he will figure out what’s going on inside his head, between he and Akira, within his heart. Tomorrow. 

Goro prays he doesn’t thrash in his sleep like he usually does. For once, his heart is warm rather than cold before he goes to sleep. 

He closes his eyes and lets the ghost of sleep lull him.

* * *

The sun rose the next morning, as it always does.

They woke up shortly before noon in an embarrassing tangle of limbs and the flimsy blanket. Akira was drooling. Sojiro left breakfast; they didn’t say much to each other save for  _ goodbye.  _ Futaba and Ann gave each other innocuous glances the entire time.

Goro still wants to keep his promise, of course— _ figuring out what’s going on.  _ The problem at hand is that he had no idea how to go about doing this.

On the train ride to work, he finally pulls out his phone after avoiding it for fear of what Akira might have sent him. Not that it’s likely Akira would send anything absolutely detrimental or harmful—it’s simply the principle of the thing. Sort of.

When he checks, there is one, singular message. 

**[12:09 N] Akira:** movie tonight at 8? there’s a new one. we can go to leblanc afterwards if you want

Goro stares at his phone for an impossibly long time—until he arrives at the station. Only once he steps onto the platform does he reply, and he replies standing in the middle of the walkway. The people bumping into him don’t exist. 

**[1:52 PM] Me:** That sounds good. Actually, afterwards we can

He licks his lips.

**[1:52 PM] Me:** That sounds good. Actually, afterwards we can go to my apartment, since you’re always the one making me food

And, just for good measure:

**[1:53 PM] Me:** I promise that you won’t be poisoned

He shuts his phone off and buries it in his bag, not wanting to see whatever reply is incoming just yet.

* * *

The issue with going to Goro’s apartment after the movie is that the trains will stop running shortly after. Goro knows this, Akira knows this, but they haven’t mentioned it to one another yet, so—well.

Actions speak louder than words and all that.

Besides, as long as both of them know, then it shouldn’t be much of an issue. Goro has a couch. And extra space, kind of. 

This might not be a great idea. There are a lot of restless emotions simmering inside of Goro, very eager to finally rush out. He certainly hasn’t been very kind or accommodating to them; they’ve gone metaphorically moldy. Or dusty, perhaps. Maybe even a combination of both.

They’ve just left the movie. The sun is long gone, and for once, a breeze dances through the air, making the summer heat slightly more bearable. The theater they went to, though, was the more or less run down one just around the corner from Leblanc and its air conditioning was severely lacking. The weather outside is more comfortable than was the temperature inside.

“What did you think of it?” Akira asks as they walk to the station, voice accompanied by the sound of crickets.

Goro isn’t paying attention much to the conversation. He’s busy reflecting on how they held hands during the movie like it wasn’t anything at all. Like it was the normal thing to do. It wasn’t like last time; it wasn’t some awkward, confusing incomplete touch of their fingers together. 

“Think of what?” he says absently.

“The movie.”

Goro wasn’t paying very close attention to that, either. “I liked it,” he says for lack of anything more specific. “It was different.”

“Different? Is it different in a good way?”

He nods. “Yes, different in a good way.”

Their shoulders accidentally bump together and Goro jolts away far too intensely. He can feel the tension in between them like putty, conveniently constricting their movements and behavior. He’s trying to make normal, same-as-always conversation, of course, and Akira obviously is too, but it isn’t going very well. At least, subjectively it isn’t going well. They still speak to one another like human beings do, but with an added layer of webbing and mesh. 

To be fair, it’s a bit hard trying to bounce back to normalcy after waking up in one anothers’ arms and then not acknowledging the fact that it had happened. 

Goro wonders—had any of this happened those few years ago, would anything truly be different? Would it have changed anybody’s fate? Or would they still be stuck along the same pathway, one side blooming with sunflowers and the other lined with wilting lilies?

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I think?” Akira says, voice ringing through the air like sonar waves. 

Fortunately, this gets a laugh out of Goro, though he isn’t sure if he’s laughing genuinely or simply to fill the air. It wasn’t even a funny statement. “What did you think, Akira?”

For dramatics, Akira puts his hand on his chin. “I liked it too,” he decides. “Different in a good way.”

Different in a good way.

“You said that I wouldn’t be poisoned tonight,” Akira continues, changing the topic. “So what are you planning on cooking?”

“Aha, cooking,” Goro manages. They step onto the train platform and wait, side by side, Akira’s hands in his pockets and Goro’s on his hips. “I did invite you over for dinner, but I never necessarily said anything about cooking for you. I apologize for implying it.”

“So we’re not having dinner?” Akira asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No, we are. It will simply be a very mediocre dinner. We can order something. Whatever you like—or you can use the three items in my refrigerator to try and make something, if you’re really up for a challenge.” 

Akira smiles and says nothing else.

The train pulls in and inadvertently signals a change in mood, in scenery, in feeling. They wait for the dozens of people to exit through the doors like clusters of ants before boarding alongside the tons of others. There aren’t any seats open; instead they stand in the aisle, clutching onto the overhead handrails. It’s crowded even so late at night. Bodies jostle against one another like protons.

Akira holds Goro by the waist, which is unnecessary, seeing as Goro has been on many train rides before and stood up just fine by himself. He images that if he asked, Akira would say he’s doing it for some stupid reason like  _ to hold you steady _ or something. Which, truthfully, feels as though it is more of a reference to his mental rather than physical state. 

He sighs.

Goro so, so badly wants to let himself want Akira. After all, he is inviting him over to his apartment. For a date, kind of. He hadn’t explicitly called it a date aloud, but then again—haven’t they already been on unnamed dates before? They get dinner and a movie nearly every day. Maybe Akira just really likes doing that with people. 

Goro tries to keep Futaba and Ann’s words in his mind; he tries to keep all the strange, undeserving pieces of kindness he has received from many of the Thieves in the past month in his mind, but it is near impossible to do so sometimes. When Goro wakes up from a nightmare, when he looks at Akira and there is the hallucination of blood on his face that only goes away after he blinks a few times, when he occasionally hears someone talking about something as simple as  _ politics  _ when he walks down the streets—all the kindness dissipates.

It won’t ever be here to stay.

If what Futaba said is true—if Akira does like Goro—it’s fleeting. It’s temporary. Nothing lasts. Nothing good ever lasts; Goro is nothing but an outlet for people’s anger and frustration and unsure emotions. He has always been this outlet, from child to young adult.

He cannot be panicking on a train, but he is, and it’s all because Akira put his arm around him. 

Truly, Goro needs to sort himself out, desperately, but—

“Hey,” Akira’s voice cuts through his thoughts like wire, “I can hear you thinking. Just relax. We’ll be at the station soon.”

“Oh,” he replies, so dumbly, because there isn’t anything else he can find to say. And then: “I’m sorry.”

Goro thinks he is perpetually drowning, sometimes. The world is tilted like a sinking ship, and he’s constantly grasping for things that only end up breaking and sending him further near the edge.

“Just focus on the sound of the train,” Akira whispers, right into Goro’s ear. The words bounce against his tympanic membrane with intent.

He closes his eyes, horribly ashamed that Akira could notice his—what had he called it earlier?—spiralling, and sighs.

“This is a date,” he says to Akira, because he needs him to know. And because he needs to hear himself say it aloud.

There is a moment of silence that lasts far too long. It’s at least an hour long, Goro thinks, it has to be.

“I know,” Akira finally replies, voice far too kind to be spoken to a person like Goro. He clamps his teeth on his inner lip and does not cry.

The train continues its journey.

* * *

Goro punches in the pin to his apartment and opens the door.

He lets Akira in first because he doesn’t want to see his facial expression in response to his apartment, which is the epitome of a sad, lonely and dreary place, with hardly any decorations save for books and the occasional charm laying around.

“I couldn’t keep anything I owned before, obviously,” Goro uselessly and unnecessarily explains as he flicks on the lights. “I don’t, ah… spend much time in here anyway.”

Akira doesn’t say anything, only steps into the kitchen space and touches the countertop with his index finger, as if to inspect it for dust to see whether or not Goro ever uses it—which he does, just not very productively, and not very often.

“Are you hungry?” Akira asks, looking up.

“Um—” Goro starts, staring at his refrigerator as if it will give him the answer. “It’s after ten o’clock.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Akira says with a small smile, flattening his palms on the counter. “I’m not really, just so you know. I ate a lot today. So we don’t have get anything if you don’t want to.”

Truthfully, Goro isn’t all too hungry either. He needed an excuse to invite Akira over, though, and that was the most convenient one—though suggesting to have a meal so late at night is rather anomalous, even for them. 

“We can just have ice cream,” he finally says. “I have a lot of… things to put on it.”

Akira nods, smirks. “Ice cream to diffuse the tension like last time?”

“I’m glad you’re admitting that there’s tension. And last time ice cream was your idea,” Goro says matter-of-factly. He finds himself smiling for reasons unknown; it seems Akira has an effect on his disposition more than he thought. “This time it’s mine.”

“Stealing my idea,” Akira tsks, opening up the freezer without being given permission to. “I know that I’m innovative, so you don’t have to worry about it. I’m not offended or anything.”

“I’m not—I am not  _ stealing your idea.  _ You didn’t invent emotionally eating ice cream.” Goro hurries over to the freezer. “And—who said you could go through my food?”

Akira doesn’t look at him. “I did. You have… a lot of frozen berries.”

Goro glances into his freezer. Sure enough, there are a lot of frozen berries. He had forgotten about them; a good half a year ago he bought a large quantity during some sort of mental crisis, assuring himself that if he made smoothies, things would better themselves. The packages stayed unopened, of course, and only serve to haunt his freezer now. Goro never ended up making a single smoothie. He doesn’t even own a blender.

He doesn’t want to share this with Akira, though, so he simply says, “I know.”

“And the type of ice cream you buy kind of makes you seem like an old woman.”

“Are you going to only make fun of me tonight?” Goro asks, pulling out all the ice cream toppings he remembers he has and sitting them on the tiny countertop.

“No, of course not.” Akira shuts the fridge and stares at the two ice cream containers in his hands as if one is poisonous and one isn’t, and he cannot figure out which is which. “Can we put this stuff on a table? No offense, but there isn’t really much room to do anything.” He gestures to the counter. “You can probably fit a cutting board and a half on here.”

“Well, I don’t own a cutting board,” Goro says defensively. He has no reason to own cooking supplies, because he has no motivation to learn how to cook. Once he watched a documentary on cooking because he was convinced he would be encouraged by it, or something, but all it taught him was that mise en place looks like an annoying endeavor, even when it’s a minimal-work kind of thing.

“You should invest in one,” Akira says, glancing over the room divide and into Goro’s small living room space. “Can we go in there?”

Goro raises an eyebrow. “On my floor?” 

“Yeah, just—” Akira proceeds to open up drawers, hunting for who-knows-what. “We’ll just put napkins on the floor.”

“You’re making it sound as though this is a painting project.”

“We should make it one,” Akira says. “We should see how tall we can stack ice cream scoops.”

Sometimes Akira suggests things that are so human it makes Goro think about how nonhuman he feels all the time. Everything is business. Everything is taken too seriously. He forgets that people do things that aren’t emotionally draining.

He shakes his head to brush the thoughts away. Tonight is not the night. “You still intend on eating my ice cream, correct? I’d prefer if we didn’t waste it, stacking or not.”

Akira nods absentmindedly. “I’ll still have some. I don’t want to waste it either, especially considering that it seems to be your only source of nourishment.” He takes out the roll of paper towels from underneath the sink and grabs for a large, deep bowl in the cabinets above and Goro cannot  _ believe _ he is letting Akira root through his things while he just stands there and watches, he— 

“All right, this is everything we need,” Akira says, gesturing to some of the things he pulled out that have been set on the counter. Goro wordlessly picks them up and follows Akira into the living room. It’s as though he’s the guest in his own home now, or something.

They lay out enough paper towels on the ground to cover the entire space of a small farm ranch and then layer it for good measure. Nearly half of the paper towels have been used up, Goro sullenly realizes as he stares at the roll in his hand. But it’s all right, because it seems that Akira is very excited about this, and it is quite endearing.

Akira sets the bowl down in the center of the paper towel blanket, places a smaller bowl inside of it, and leans back on his heels, observing his setup.

“You look like you’ve used the scientific method to figure out the best way to do this,” Goro says, kneeling down next to him.

“That’s because I did,” Akira chirps. He pops the lids off of the ice cream containers and takes a spoon in his right hand, holding it with such integrity that it looks like a knighting tool.

It takes him less than ten seconds to scoop a nearly perfect sphere of ice cream and place it in the smaller sized bowl. He then sticks a toothpick in it, perhaps as a way to keep the scoops together.

An idea dawns on Goro.

“Wait,” he says, scrambling to his feet in such an uncharacteristically dramatic way that it feels a bit embarrassing. It’s almost concerning how animated he is, particularly because he doesn’t even have this much vigor when he exercises.

He nearly trips on a stray paper towel on the way back but manages to not make a fool out of himself; he sets a second large bowl and a second small bowl down next to the first bowls and returns to his original kneeling position. “It’s—a contest,” Goro says rather breathlessly, fixing his hair and pushing one piece behind his ear. “To see who can make a taller, ah, tower.” 

He feels goofy saying it.

Akira breaks out into a smile as big as the sun and Goro thinks that had they not been spending so much time together the past month, his heart would have completely stopped in this second and he would have died. Akira looks so happy, so beautiful, looks like the world before Pandora’s box when he smiles like this, one crooked tooth visible and crinkles at the corners of his eyes. 

And the most enamoring part of all of it is that he’s smiling like this because of Goro.  _ I did that, somehow,  _ he thinks.

Something pangs in his chest.

Goro could kiss Akira right now—he really wants to, almost impossibly so, it’s terrifying to think about—and there isn’t anything stopping him from doing it save for common sense and the small fragment of the old Goro that still lives in holes and crevices in his brain. Sometimes he tugs on the nerves in there, sends sweet reminders of who Goro really is—was—all throughout his body.

But there  _ still _ isn’t anything stopping him, not technically or tangibly. They’re so close to one another, it would be so easy to just lean in, to finally feel Akira’s lips on his own, to finally experience the good in the universe, the things that have been hidden and waiting for him underneath all the pooled blood.

Hope is sweet on his tongue. It is tempting, so tempting, so persuasive and kind, too. It is everything Goro has never been given and everything he wants but so vehemently believes he should not have.

“Do you have any rules?” Akira asks. Goro blinks himself out the stupor he’d accidentally sunk himself into and makes a vague shrugging motion with his shoulders.

“I suppose we can keep going until one of them falls over,” he suggests, only half thinking about the logistics.

Akira gives a nod and scoots back a little bit to make more space. “Is there a prize for the winner?”

“Oh, um.” Goro hadn’t thought about that. Truthfully, his head is still spinning from Akira’s—from his smile. “The winner gets… whatever he wants.”

“That’s a lot of freedom,” Akira says slowly, getting another scoop ready. “Anything at all?”

Goro picks up the second spoon and shapes a scoop onto it, not wanting to drag behind too much. “Yes, anything at all,” he says, plopping the ice cream into the smaller bowl and sticking two toothpicks in it, wondering if it would stabilize it more. “Please accept my generosity before I change my mind.”

Akira presses his second scoop firmly into the toothpick and adjusts it with his fingers. “I am accepting it, I’m just confirming your decision with you.”

“Well, it’s been confirmed.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Akira licks his fingers to get rid of the ice cream and Goro has to look away.

He scoops more, continuing in the pattern of placing two toothpicks down and then one scoop on top. The ice cream is melting already, he realizes, and it’s because he’s left the window open a crack in the kitchen and summer heat is pouring in steadily. Originally he had left it open so a draft might come through, and it has—but it’s only noticeable when he stands right next to it. At this point it’s only heating his apartment.

Because there isn’t a time limit on this tower building contest, Goro figures it’s better to actually work slowly rather than quickly. No matter how tall his ice cream tower is—it feels so childish calling it that in his head—as long as Akira’s falls over and melts all over itself before Goro’s does, Goro will still win. 

Actually—the contest is actually incredibly stupid, going by these rules. Goro hadn’t thought about it when he said it. 

Nevertheless he continues making his tower, slower this time, and notices that Akira is still moving at a quick speed. It dawns on Goro that perhaps Akira doesn’t  _ want _ to win, perhaps he wants to know what Goro want his prize to be and is going to purposefully lose. That could be an explanation as to why he’s working with so much haste. Then again, it could also just mean that Akira is competitive; it could just mean that he wants to beat Goro. After all—rivalry, detective and thief, blah blah. 

Lots of overthinking here.

Goro immediately changes his plan. He wants _Akira_ to win, now, wants to know what _he_ wants as a prize—so he works faster instead in hopes that his tower will fall over first. He purposefully gets sloppy with the toothpicks but still works in a way that is hopefully convincing of his efforts. It would be too obvious if he “accidentally” knocked his own tower over. Akira is most definitely keen enough to catch onto something like that.

He’s so focused he forgets that Akira is there, too; they’ve stopped talking. 

This is silly.

Goro feels something akin to giddy.

Suddenly, he hears an “ _ oh. _ ”

From the corner of his eye, Goro can see Akira’s sad tower melting and tilting in a comedically slow motion, and it gives Goro just enough time to decide to whack his own tower down with his hand. The ice cream goes flying at Akira and straight onto his shirt, and Goro prepares himself for the most painful, searing heartbreak and devastation of all time, clenching his nails into his palms and biting his lip and forcing himself to not screw his eyes shut.

But nothing happens.

Nothing, that is, besides Akira’s laughter. He swipes the ice cream off his shirt (which has left an unflattering green mark in its wake) and cleans his hands on the scattered paper towels. Both towers have fallen, most of their contents into the larger bowl, but some drips have made it onto the ground like some sort of unfavorable abstract decoration.

“Looks like I won,” Akira says, and he sounds so stupid and endearing that Goro can’t handle it. He starts laughing, then, because there’s something extremely funny about imaging himself whacking ice cream into oblivion. He wonders if this is what it is like to be seven years old.

Before he can think about it more, something hits his own chest—something cold, and kind of goopy. It takes him half a second to notice that it’s ice cream and that Akira has thrown it at him. They make eye contact and Akira’s eyes are devilish, almost; there is something in there that Goro recognizes but can’t put his finger on when and where he’s seen it before.

It doesn’t matter, though, not right now, because Goro is picking up ice cream and throwing some back—now they’re both throwing  _ ice cream  _ inside Goro’s apartment and it’s very messy and sticky. Goro is laughing, still, though, and so is Akira, and his grey, gunmetal eyes are full of light and warmth. His laugh sounds like nothing Goro has ever heard before; it dances through the air in coastline fractals.

Before his brain can register the movement, Goro lunges at Akira, and he’s kissing him now, Akira is kissing him back, everything is very gross and smells like green tea and vanilla and their hands are disgustingly sticky but that’s unimportant right now, because— 

Akira falls backwards with a vague  _ ouch  _ sound. His elbows hit the wooden ground with a resounding  _ thud  _ and Goro chases after him. They meet in the middle, mouths finding one another again in such a desperate and needy way, like they’ve been waiting blue moons for this resounding little moment and maybe—perhaps they have.

With some effort Akira sits up and pulls Goro into his lap and they slow down, finally, pairs of hands resting on hips and shoulders. He can feel Akira’s heartbeat and it mimics Goro’s own, which is working at such a fast pace that it seems it could be painful. After a moment it starts slowing down, though, helped by Akira’s hands playing with his hair and the gentleness of his tongue when Goro opens his mouth.

Goro pulls back when he starts feeling lightheaded and glances around the living room area, so suddenly aware of how unclean it is. “There’s ice cream everywhere,” he says monotonously, like he’s received bad news but can’t be bothered to react to it.

“It’s a little messy,” Akira agrees, pressing a kiss to Goro’s temple. 

Goro slides off Akira’s lap and onto the floor. “Would you help me clean?” he asks, as though they hadn’t just been making out.

Akira nods, gives a “sure,” and stands, pulling Goro up with him. They put the collection of bowls in the sink and Goro stares sadly at the wasted ice cream, allowing himself to regret not eating it for just the barest of a second, and then he continues cleaning. They pick up the paper towels, wipe the ground, clean until the stickiness isn’t sticky anymore. If someone walked in, they wouldn’t be able to tell anything had happened.

Which is good, obviously.

“I’ll, um—I’ll get you some clothes you can wear,” Goro says to Akira, who is leaning against the wall and typing something on his phone rather frantically. “If you’d like,” he quickly adds.

Akira gives a short nod and Goro retreats to his room, sliding the door shut. He peels off his own clothes and tosses them into the laundry bin and proceeds to change as fast as his muscles let him, which is pretty fast. It’s going to feel a bit weird, wearing sweatpants in front of Akira, but he can’t let himself overthink it for too long.

He hunts through his wardrobe for a clean set of clothes and pulls out the nicest ones he can find. Goro has always had a weird relationship with the clothes he wears and the way he does laundry; he owns multiple pairs of the same clothes, like he had during high school, because back then there was always the vague threat of things ruining shirts and gloves and so on—although he did killings in the Metaverse, it wasn’t ever a bad idea to be overly prepared, and besides, sometimes— 

Goro closes his eyes. This isn’t the time to be going back in time. He shuts his wardrobe and sighs a deep sigh.

He returns with clothes for Akira, handing them to him a very neatly folded stack, and Akira takes them like they’re pure gold. 

“The bathroom is there,” Goro mumbles, gesturing to a little door by the kitchen without making eye contact because suddenly his brain has decided to be awkward.

As Akira changes, Goro takes the opportunity to make tea, partially because he doesn’t want to clean the dirty bowls yet and partially because he feels like he needs to busy himself. It’s cheap tea, but it’s fine, because he’s probably going to take one sip and then leave it on a table overnight, forgotten. That happens a lot.

Thinking about it, Goro realizes that he hasn’t ever had someone over at his apartment before. This thought came to mind because he has been so very aware of the organization of everything; he hopes Akira doesn’t think it’s… pathetic, for him to have so little things and so few decorations. There hasn’t been a reason for anyone to come to his apartment until today. Goro isn’t the most well known (it seems that being shot in the Metaverse has wiped most people’s memories of him who weren’t particularly close with him—or something) or sociable person anymore, and even when he  _ was  _ sociable he never had anybody over.

It’s a little embarrassing. Or, perhaps not embarrassing, but— 

—Sad.

Goro plucks a mug from the cabinet just as Akira exits the bathroom. He gives himself approximately two seconds to prepare himself to see Akira wearing his clothes, one second to visualize it and another to think up a facial expression to wear. 

Unfortunately, these two seconds prove to be absolutely useless, because he blushes anyway.

“Hi,” Akira says, standing in place awkwardly, dirty clothes in hand.

“Hi,” Goro echoes. “Do you want tea?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine.” Pause. “But thanks.”

Goro grinds his teeth together, not out of frustration, but thought. “Have you decided what you want for your… prize?”

Akira’s brows furrow. “Prize?”

“Because you won the contest,” Goro says. He feels so,  _ so _ dumb, like he doesn’t understand a simple math problem and is being chastised for it. 

Akira looks at the ground, strangely, mouth all grim and crooked. Clearly he knows the answer to Goro’s question but doesn’t want to say it.

“You can just say it, you know. It’s only me.” The words are more ironic than Goro thought they would be.  _ It’s only me. _

All Akira manages is an  _ um.  _ It’s sort of sweet to see him like this, so awkward and nervous and mumbly. It’s like a secret only Goro has been let in on, and something about that thought warms him inside.

“It’s, uh.” Akira looks up, finally, and his eyes are serious. “Will you go out with me?”

Goro has two initial reactions to this: the first is the overwhelming urge to collapse in laughter, probably so much so that his lower ribs dislocate and puncture his diaphragm—or something equally dramatic and improbable. The second is to burst into tears, to throw the mug and the bowls at the walls and to kick Akira out and then move out of the country—or something equally dramatic and improbable.

He doesn’t do either. 

“That’s a dumb prize,” he says instead, and Akira’s eyebrows shoot up at the ceiling. “Because I’ll so easily say yes to it.”

“Oh,” and then: “So, wait, that’s yes?”

“Yes, that’s yes,” Goro says, and the word  _ yes  _ is starting to sound not like a word at all. “You should stay over,” he casually adds, deciding to immediately change the subject. He pours tea into his mug and tosses out the loose leaves into the trashcan. His head is buzzing quite a bit.

“The trains stopped a while ago,” Akira says, and it’s a rather doltish thing to say aloud in the circumstances of everything but necessary nonetheless—just to establish the fact. 

Goro can’t help but laugh a little, despite it. “I know. I’m sure you knew that long before we arrived here.”

“That’s true,” he admits. “Is that naive of me?”

“A bit,” Goro says, gesturing Akira to follow him into his room, turning off the kitchen lights along the way. “It’s naive that you agreed to come over in the first place.”

“I was actually kind of afraid you’d tell me to go home or something and that I would have to walk.”

“Do you really think of me as so heartless?” Goro asks as he slides open the bedroom door again. His tone of voice is joking when he says this but the question feels a bit too serious. 

Thankfully, though, all Akira says is, “Never.”

Goro had conveniently forgotten how messy his room is. The laundry bin is near full, his futon is dishevelled, there are piles of papers and books all over the place. A small television in the corner of the room has its wires all tangled up. It’s embarrassing, to say the least. 

Akira, however, sees no problem with any of it, probably because it is a normal human being thing to have a relatively disorganized room and Akira knows and recognizes this. Instead, the first thing he says is, “Your futon is really big.”

Which is true. For a single person, Goro does have a somewhat oversized futon, and there is a reason for it, but a rather unfortunate one.

Goro sits down on it, legs criss cross, mug still in hand. It’s a wonder how it hasn’t spilled yet. “It’s because I move around a lot when I sleep,” he explains, not making eye contact. “I, ah—I have a lot of nightmares. So—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Akira says, and Goro is so thankful he isn’t making him elaborate any further, because he isn’t sure whether or not he would be able to.

Akira throws his clothes straight into the laundry basket like it’s his own and sits next to Goro. They turn the television on and watch some obnoxious gameshow for a good ten or eleven minutes until Goro places his tea on the ground and turns to kiss Akira again because it is something he can do now. At least, he supposes it’s something he can do now, and judging by Akira’s enthusiastic response, the sentiment is shared.

_ Gameshows are boring, television is stupid _ , Goro reminds himself as Akira’s hand slides firmer against his waist, _ it’s all fake and this is much better than pictures on a screen. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to think about. _

Goro isn’t going to be distraught and worried for being with Akira, not tonight. Perhaps tomorrow he can, perhaps tomorrow he will think over it, but tonight he refuses to let the broken Goro in his brain tell him anything negative at all. Nothing. He’s shut the door, the gate, drawn up the bridge. 

Akira stands and turns off the lights and television, because they were clearly only watching for show. Goro really doesn’t feel like getting up anymore now that he’s already sitting down, as much as he knows he should brush his teeth and take off the concealer under his eyes. His skin and teeth are going to have to bear it for now. He’ll deal with whatever the slight consequences will be tomorrow morning.

His brain quiets down—Goro isn’t sure what internal mechanism he’s using to make it do so—and he lets Akira coax him into laying down next to him. They face one another, eyes meeting in the gentle silence and gentle darkness and gentle, gentle everything that Goro is so not used it. It almost doesn’t feel like his own apartment anymore; it almost feels like he is somewhere else, somewhere far away from here in a better world with a better heart and better fate and better past and better everything.

Goro remembers reading the statistics of what happens to people like _him,_ to children like _him—_ children that were stripped of love and stripped of care and help. He absolutely hated the prospect of being a number, hated it with everything in him, and every time he walked into Shido’s office, every time he went into the Metaverse (every time he looked at the train tracks in the train station and thought _I could jump, it would be quick, it would hurt for a minute but then never again_ —ev _er_ y **time** , _e_ v **e** ry time, every ti **m** e), he knew that he was somewhat turning himself into what he disliked.

Children physically and emotionally need care, love, affection, Goro remembers reading. Goro had love, sort of. For a brief period of time he likes to tell himself that he had love, anyway, given by his mother, by the memory of her words but perhaps not voice. 

He doesn’t know how much all of that constituted as love, though, because it was so short lived, because— 

Goro is a burden. 

It is strange to lose “love” so long ago and to now pick up something that seems dangerously close to it. 

Love is a dangerous word. It doesn’t exist purely, as far as Goro is aware, and he doesn’t know what it really feels like, as far as he is aware. In his head, he cannot rationalize nor understand the concept of anyone loving him. 

This is why being with Akira is so scary, so confusing, such a treacherous territory: because when Goro is with him, there is a new feeling inside of him, sweet and light and wonderful and unknown. And Goro is not used to those sensations.

Goro promised himself he wouldn’t get upset about all of this tonight, though, so he pulls himself closer to Akira, wrapping a leg around him and kissing him in a way that feels like he’s a panacea. He’s pathetically desperate for touch, for someone to treat him kindly.

And Akira—Akira is so kind, always, he surely is aware of this fact and lets Goro touch his arms and chest, curiously and gingerly, he is kind and kisses up Goro’s neck and his to his lips and wherever he can reach.

He is kind and holds Goro until he falls asleep in the the quiet of an apartment that is, at least for tonight—in a better place. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one was so cheesy. again, thank you for reading!


	5. what a fool believes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for relatively graphic thoughts of suicide

Goro wakes up to the sound of his phone vibrating, and just for the smallest of moments he thinks it is Shido calling.

It isn’t, of course. He knows this. He knows this while he searches the blankets for his phone, but the fear only completely dissolves when he sees that the caller ID belongs to a one Niijima Makoto. Which, although definitely better than Shido by one million, million miles, is still a concerning person to receive a phone call from, especially unprompted. Though it is a funny coincidence that she was the first of Akira’s friends to directly contact him _those years ago._

Thankfully Goro has all of the Thieves’ phone numbers again, given to him by Ann after he vaguely mentioned being afraid of answering unknown phone numbers. Had she not given them to him, he would have absolutely thought that by some impossible margin, Shido was calling him, and would have probably thrown his phone against the wall.

“Hello?” he says, propping himself up with one elbow while the other holds his phone. The sleep in his eyes refuses to go anywhere despite his insistent blinking.

“Good morning, Akechi-kun,” Makoto says. _Morning._ Goro looks at his phone and sees that it isn’t even eight yet.

Definitely morning.

“Oh, um, good morning, Niijima-san,” he manages, trying to pretend that he wasn’t already aware that she was the one calling. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, everything is all right,” she says, but her tone sounds strained. Next to him, Akira grabs at Goro’s forearm, eyes still closed, and mumbles something incomprehensible.

“Shhh,” Goro whispers, laying back down so he can comfortably run his fingers through Akira’s hair. “Can I... do anything for you?” he asks Makoto, hesitant.

“No, no, I actually have an invitation for you.” Pause. “Is someone with you?”

“An invitation?” Goro’s brows furrow. As he speaks, Akira takes his palm and kisses it, movement so awkward because of his half-asleep state. “And, um, no, nobody’s here, not really.”

It doesn’t sound convincing at all.

Makoto is apparently satisfied with his answer, though. “Well, anyway—yes. I have an invitation. I’d like you to come over and have dinner with me tomorrow evening. It’ll just be me and Morgana.”

“Uh,” Goro says.

“At six o’clock, if that’s all right with you.”

“Uh,” Goro says again, embarrassed by his ineloquency. Makoto has very much taken him off guard. “That’s—”

“Goro,” Akira mumbles, pulling him closer, “you’re so famous, getting phone calls so early in the morning. It’s a little annoying, though.” He kisses his cheek, then his neck, and then he’s sitting up a bit and his lips are migrating to Goro’s collarbone.

“Wait, Akira, I’m—” Goro yelps, trying and failing to fend him off because he likes the attention and also because, well—it’s not like Makoto can _see_ him through his phone.

“Akira?” Makoto asks, almost as if she’s speaking to someone else. This is all terribly confusing.

“No, he’s not here, you’ve just misheard—“

“I’m here!” Akira interjects, voice slightly slurred, and moves closer to the phone. Goro cannot imagine Makoto’s facial expression throughout this.

“It’s very early for you to be with Akira,” she notes slowly.

“Yeah, we’re fishing,” Akira says. “The early bird catches the worm and all that.”

Goro stifles a laugh.

“I see,” Makoto deadpans. She doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but apparently doesn’t want to dwell on it either, as she drops the subject. “In any case… I can trust I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, I’ll be there, just—text me your address later on.” Goro can’t help but feel a little huffy at how sudden this is, but then again, he also supposes that he should be glad Makoto is inviting him over in the first place.

“Of course. Well, then, goodbye, Akechi-kun,” she says, and hangs up before Goro can say goodbye in return.

He throws his phone down by the end of the futon and turns to Akira, whom is laying back down in his original position.

“Akira,” he says cautiously, “who hates me?”

“Wh—“

“You know exactly what I mean. I want to know, if you’ll tell me.” Pause. “Be honest. Don’t think of me too fragile.” The question has been something on Goro’s mind for a while, but that conversation with Makoto made him particularly curious of the answer.

Akira’s face scrunches up a bit, most likely internally debating with himself how he should go about answering the question. Goro supposes the question is a bit forthright, maybe too sudden, maybe not an appropriate question to ask in general, but it’s too late to take it back.

“I don’t think anybody hates you,” he finally says. “Distrusts, maybe. But not hate.”

“That’s it?”

“You’ve spent time with everyone, gauge it for yourself, Goro. We went to the art museum with Yusuke, sometimes Ryuji has lunch with us, you spend time with Ann on your own, Futaba—“

“Yes, yes, I understand. I apologize. I shouldn’t have asked something so invasive.” Goro mumbles the last bit, growing so sheepish when he’s faced with the task of apologizing. He does realize that this is likely not the best time to ask.

Apologies have existed in three ways for Goro. The first is the fearful apology, which was only used when he was young. His voice would be laden in nervousness and apprehension, saying sorry for standing in the way, or for speaking when he wasn’t supposed to, and so on. It was used on adults, on parents that weren’t his.

The second apology is the masked apology. It was the stony _I’m sorry, sir,_ given to Shido when he took too long to carry out an order, it was the _oh, excuse me, miss,_ when he bumped into people in public places. There was always an irritable undertone, never fully sincere.

And then, there is the third apology, the one that exists in the here and now. It is the embarrassed apology; the one coated in shame and anxiety. He isn’t necessarily embarrassed of the act of apologizing itself, but rather, he is embarrassed that his words have lost some of their eloquence and seem less genuine than they really are. He’s embarrassed about his presence, in a way.

Goro was so good with his words—and he still is, of course, it hasn’t completely gone away, but it is more situational now. He can still talk himself out of problems, can still string words together beautifully, but only as long as the context allows for it. And it seems that there isn’t any pattern to it.

It’s very irritating.

“—Goro, you’re disappearing again,” Akira says, somewhat out of nowhere. He’s waving his hand in front of Goro’s face in a comical fashion but there is unmistakable worry on his face.

“I’m sorry, I was just… thinking,” he vaguely explains. Clearly, though, Akira can already tell that for himself.

“You seriously don’t have to apologize for thinking,” he says, sitting up. Goro sits up with him, because he’s using a tone of voice that feels like they should be speaking at the same eye level.

Goro is socially overanalyzing the situation again, he knows, but it’s too much of a habit for him to stop doing it. It’s been doing him more harm than good, especially lately, what with all this _assuming_ of the temperaments of other people.

Akira slides his hands across Goro’s cheeks, keeping them there, rubbing under his eye with his thumb as he speaks. “Listen, Goro,” he says softly. “I don’t want to hurt you, and I know you don’t want to hurt me. And I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I want this to work, you and me, but for it to work you have to start forgiving yourself and talking to me. Or at least, something close to forgiving. Coming to peace with yourself, I don’t know.” He pauses. “Because sometimes you look at me like you’re afraid of me, or maybe that you’re afraid of yourself, and I don’t want you to feel like that.”

Goro says nothing. He isn’t sure if there’s anything he has to say.

Akira is very good at analyzing people; he is good at piecing together people based on his interactions with them and creating a larger, more put together image. Unlike Goro, Akira focuses on the big ideas, while Goro zones in on the smaller details and obsesses so much over them that he is unable to see everything else clearly. He’s always admired Akira’s ability to understand people—or perhaps not understand them, but his ability to put himself in their shoes. It’s something Goro hasn’t ever been adept at, for reasons quite obvious. Perhaps he could be good at it, one day, but he has spent so long teaching himself to not sympathize, because sympathizing wouldn’t help his case when he worked with Shido.

And here, Akira has analyzed him very well. Goro used to be so careful about not wearing his emotions on his sleeve unless he was doing it purposefully. One of his few slip ups with this was when he suddenly told Akira about his mother those few years ago while sitting at Leblanc’s counter.

He was so mad at himself for doing that. But Akira’s face was so unjudging, and the cafe was so still, and there was so much going on at once that it simply slipped out without much effort.

Goro sighs. “I don’t mean to look at you like that, obviously,” he says, taking hold of Akira’s wrists. “I, um—it’s no excuse, but I simply need time. Again.” Pause. “I’m sorry. I’m not good with intimacy at all, in any form.”

“That’s okay,” Akira says, smiling so gently. “I can kind of tell. But don’t worry about it. We’ll just do things slowly. Besides, I’m still… working through things. Still.”

“You say it like that’s a bad thing.”

“I know it isn’t. It’s just… weird for me.” He makes a vague motion with his shoulder for Goro to move closer, and so he does. “To be Joker I had to be fearless and unyielding and solid. I couldn’t be weak, or whatever. This feels kind of melodramatic to say aloud. Uh…” he clears his throat, “but to be Akira—to be a better Akira—I can’t do those things anymore. Because in the long run it kind of fucked me up, acting that way for so long.”

Goro touches a hand to Akira’s hair. “Perhaps this is an inappropriate response, but you sound like me.”

“Yeah, I do. I know.” Pause. “Which, to be honest, was infuriating at first, once I realized it.”

Goro laughs, whole and hearty. “Thank you for being honest,” he says.

“Yeah, well, you know.” He waves his hands around, and Goro doesn’t know, but pretends that he does.

He understands that Akira doesn’t think Goro is helpless, and Goro doesn’t think Akira is helpless either. Goro doesn’t want to take from him, which is what it always feels like he is doing; he wants to give as well, as much as he can, because—he cares about Akira, and he wants to help Akira heal just as much as Akira wants Goro to heal. He wants to do it with him. For him. For himself.

Akira was the first person to make Goro feel like a human being.

He’s getting distant again, probably, which he _really_ needs to stop doing, but it is so ridiculously easy for Goro to retract back into his head. With a few blinks he falls back into reality.

“I’m tired,” Goro mumbles, for lack of anything better to say.

“Sleep some more with me,” Akira suggests. It’s not really much of a suggestion, actually, because he’s pulling Goro to lay down with him and Goro so eagerly lets himself curl up against Akira’s side.

His arms find Akira’s abdomen and he clings.

* * *

Goro went to work, a few hours later, nearly late because perhaps for the first time ever he didn’t want to leave his apartment. It is also because Akira was very slow to get out of bed, but that was—it was kind of cute. Goro can only imagine what he must have been like in high school; if he can hardly get up close to noon, it must have been impossible to get up when the sun was hardly awake yet.

Nevertheless—Akira left, after Goro promised they would see each other the next day.

On his walk home from the station after work, in the dark of the night and the cloudiness of the sky, Goro received a message from Ann, which he did not answer until he was inside his apartment. There wasn’t any point in waiting to read it, really, it was just something he tended to do if he couldn’t anticipate what the message would be about. He had started doing that a while ago (where _a while ago_ meant _a few years ago_ ) and hadn’t ever dropped the habit. Though, maybe it’s less of a habit and more of something done out of fear.

Regardless, when he arrives home, he looks at what Ann had sent.

 **[9:19 PM] Ann:** hey…. akiras wearing ur shirt  
**[9:19 PM] Ann:** it's cute i didn't think u’d own a pink tshirt tho

Goro sets his bag down in his room and stares at the message, and then at the laundry, and sighs.

 **[9:27 PM] Me:** Could you please tell him I’ll wash his clothes and give them back tomorrow

It sounds—well, it sounds like it could be a double entendre, Goro realizes once he’s sent the message, but it’s fine, because it’s a bit inevitable in this context.

Ann types for the longest time, and while Goro waits for her reply, he decides to shower, because he hadn’t earlier today and still feels gross from all the ice cream. Internally gross, too. And sweaty.

He doesn’t turn the water as hot as he usually does (whether this is done intentionally or unintentionally is an unknown fact) and mentally busies himself by preparing a checklist of chores he needs to do before he goes to sleep.

_Laundry. Dishes. Find clothes for dinner with Makoto. Clean room._

He’s particularly nervous about Makoto’s invitation. Out of all the Thieves, she, Haru, and Morgana have been the ones he has spoken least to—Haru not at all, and Morgana only a few times simply because he’s never around much. Goro thinks he isn’t purposefully avoiding him, actually, and that might be a bit of overconfidence, but he feels that Morgana would be the type to directly approach him if there was an issue.

 _Again with assuming things,_ Goro thinks to himself. Every time he’s sure of his analysis of anyone, it turns out to be wrong. It turned out so with Akira. With Futaba. With Shido. Goro is undoubtedly smart and capable, but sometimes he misses the mark on these types of things with his hastiness and… emotional stuntedness.

Of course, he is able to publicly speak with relative ease, but that was a learned process. It took a while to figure out how to behave in ways people liked, and he’d only figured out how to do it externally. One on one conversations with people were always short lived, awkward, or ridiculously rehearsed.

Mostly, anyway. There are exceptions to every rule in every field.

It isn’t like Goro is naturally introverted, per se. Even Akira seems to be the extroverted type; he’s simply quiet. Goro loves talking, usually, because he has a lot to say and not a whole lot of people to say it too. His tangents and trailing off are all a part of that. He’s become less wordy in the past year, but that’s because he hasn’t wanted to share things much anymore.

Which is changing once again, clearly, now that Akira’s here.

Goro sighs and turns off the water, retreating back into his room. Before looking at Ann’s reply he changes into pajamas, and gives another rueful stare at the laundry basket.

 **[9:31 PM] Ann:** he says u can keep them :)

Goro bites the inside of his lip.

 **[9:50 PM] Me:** All right. He can keep mine too, then

With that settled, he does laundry.

He also washes the dishes afterwards. They are ridiculously disgusting now after sitting out for nearly twenty four hours, but he tries to not complain too much because the hassle of cleaning all this up is worth what happened last night.

_What happened._

Goro promised that he wouldn’t think about _it_ yesterday, but yesterday is over, so now he has free reign to think about it.

He turns on the tea kettle and rubs his eyes with his fists, then turns back to the sink.

The dishes take a while to do, and once again he is able to mentally distract himself by coming up with what he should wear tomorrow. Picking out clothes is surprisingly easy, and when he has finished with the dishes and set out clothes over a chair, he tidies up his room, kind of, until he hears the kettle ding (which doesn’t take long, so there wasn’t actually much room-cleaning).

After a moment he’s settled back on his futon with the tea. The cup from last night is still on the ground, cold and abandoned. He glares at it, wondering if it will glare back, or grow a mouth and talk to him, or something equally stupid.

Goro’s mind wanders.

He thinks about the logistics of things.

In a perfect world (which he has fantasized about quite a bit) where Akira met him earlier in life, he likes to think that things would have turned out differently. Maybe that’s a wishful thought, but at least when he was younger he wasn’t completely—what’s a good word to use?—lost yet. There was still something in him, some hope that things could change. Some real hope, not the superficial one he had to hang onto.

Had he met Akira then, everything would be so much easier. Actually, not easier, but it would be less painful. The way he feels now, the way things are now—there would be less pain.

But he hadn’t met Akira.

He tried really hard for a while, back then, to make himself less lonely and less frustrated. Nothing helped, really; being a pleasant, charming teenager that appeared on television every now and then as a way to combat what he felt was miles away from making healthy connections with people. And at the end of the day, he still returned home to an empty apartment, gifted to him and cursed by Shido.

When he first met Akira, Goro thought he was more or less an average person with interesting opinions. But as he talked to him more and more, it _very_ quickly became clear that Akira wasn’t just an average person. He was different and so was his friend group. They were a friend group that were so fundamentally disparate from one another that they fit together perfectly, like puzzle pieces. Goro had entertained the idea of fitting in with them, and it was the first time he’d thought anything like that.

In the end, on that crafted boat on that blood sea, they were still kind to Goro, even though he tried to kill Akira, even though he tried to kill all of them. He couldn’t look at them, didn’t want them to look at him, couldn’t wrap his head around why they would invite him back on the team. It would be better, he had thought at the time, to kill himself, to wipe away his existence, to wipe away the ghost of his soul, than to have them take pity on him.

He traces his finger around the perimeter of his cup.

When Goro had first joined the Thieves, he didn’t have any intention of truly, mentally integrating himself with their team. He didn’t think their goals aligned, even though at their core, they _did_ align, albeit in a somewhat parallel fashion. Goro was blinded to their intentions by the helplessness that had been taught to him for years. He was blind even as he spent more time with them—but it was purposeful. Purposeful blindness. Goro was Sisyphus; Goro was the other side of Sisyphus.

The most troubling thing, though, was the fact that the more he “hung out” with them, the more Goro started to notice that he was enjoying his time with them. In the beginning, he acted accordingly; he behaved in a way that felt reasonable for his position. As days passed, though, he began to look forward to getting texts from Akira asking to meet up, he looked forward to going into Sae’s palace and Mementos, he looked forward to fighting alongside them and laughing.

That was what made him realize he was having fun: the fact that he was _laughing._ And it was real laughter, not the artificially concocted polite laughter he so often used.

It dawned on him, a few days before they were going to send Sae’s calling card, that his plan was very much going awry. It was going awry because he hadn’t intended to enjoy himself. He hadn’t intended to consider himself _a part of the team,_ but he did. And he hated that he felt that way. Hated that feelings and emotions were getting in the way.

When he was with the Thieves, just for a short while—sometimes minutes at a time when he was preoccupied by something they were doing together in the Metaverse—he was happy, almost. He felt… alive.

And that was the problem.

Because he _had_ to kill Akira or else Shido would kill him, and that was not the desirable outcome. Everything he did would have been in vain had Shido’s cleaner gotten to Goro before Goro got to Shido. He was so, so overrun by his goal, so adamantly sure that nobody could help him and that he would forever be on his own that it consumed every decision he made. It only got worse, too.

_He considered Akira his friend._

It’s counterproductive to keep wishing he had made different choices but he can’t help it. Goro wishes he hadn’t lost himself so easily. He wishes fate were kinder, wishes for a different beginning, wishes he had accepted the Thieves’ offer. Wishes, wishes, wishes. Useless.

If he had followed his feelings of being apart of the Thieves for just a short while, perhaps he would have really, really stuck with them. Then he wouldn’t feel guilty whenever he looks Akira in the eye.

A tear falls into his tea, stupidly, and Goro becomes aware of how much he’s crying. He’s been biting into his tongue, too, and the familiar taste of blood sits in his mouth.

He launches the tea across the room and it smashes against the door, shattering into a thousand porcelain fragments. The sound is awful. He tenses.

Goro sees himself from the ceiling.

He is alone, in his apartment, smashing things because he’s mad at himself for crying, for his actions, for his thought processes. He feels like he is going backwards, progress wise. Akira, Futaba, Ann, Yusuke—they’re right. The more he lingers on the past, the worse he spirals, the worse he feels. He is so _stuck_ on wishing he could undo things that it’s doing _nothing_ for the now of it all.

Goro wants to be with Akira, to keep spending time with him. Akira wants to, too. Akira isn’t afraid; of course he’s upset, and yet Akira wants to mend their connection despite that feeling.

The problem is that he can’t if Goro keeps distancing himself from the present.

Goro is the one that’s afraid.

He stares at the porcelain on the ground. It’s a white mug, a boring one, not indicative of anything except emptiness; the handle is halfway under a chair in the corner of the room. Goro imagines himself picking up the pointed piece nearest his foot and slitting his throat, right now, it would be so easy, it would all be over, for real this time because there is no Metaverse and no incorporeal force there to stop him and his room loves to tilt on an axis, books falling down from shelves and his body hanging upside down like pittura infamante and—he holds up the shard to his neck, waiting for the movement, but it doesn’t come—

Goro drops the porcelain. It hits the ground with a _tink._

He’s had enough, truthfully. Enough of himself. He’s had enough of his own—what is it, fear?—of healing and connecting. It’s doing nothing but making him feel _worse_.

Whatever it is that has made Akira like him, Goro cannot fathom. But it’s _something,_ and Goro doesn’t want to lose it. He doesn’t want to lose Akira. He doesn’t want to lose anyone, not anymore, he wants to stay in the present. For himself. For Akira. For whatever else there is to exist for.

Goro realizes, then, as he looks at the ceiling, that comparing every experience he has to things that have occured years in the past is setting him up, emotionally, for fear and heartbreak. He doesn’t know how to stop this mindset but he wants to, because Akira has accepted him, Akira’s friends—Goro’s friends now, too—have accepted him, and it feels so hopeful that there are people out there like them.

There are people that want to be close with him, and not because they want to use him. They want to be close to him for the sake of being close.

It’s still hard to believe, unfortunately.

He looks at the shattered mug again and doesn’t like how it makes him feel. It’s so inviting, cooing at him, almost, like Ankou dressed in red.

Goro fumbles around for his phone and dials Ann’s number, hands irritatingly shaky, and when she answers he simply says, “Can I talk to you?”

Ann says _of course_ , and so Goro talks honestly for once.

* * *

Goro lays on his futon later that night after he’s folded his laundry, wiped up the tea, and talked to Ann.

He miraculously feels better.

Ann gives good advice and she tells it like it is, which Goro desperately needed to hear. She’s honest, too, unrelenting in her words which are laden with compassion. The first thing she did was instruct him to clean up the porcelain and take it all the way outside to the dumpster, and he complied because Ann said _I’ll call the police if you don’t_ and Goro _hates_ cops. Plus, Ann has a very intimidating tone of voice. It sounded like—it had sounded like this reminded her of something, what with the way her words stumbled.

They talked about other things once he’d settled down.

 _You aren’t a bad person, Goro, at least I don’t think so,_ she had said. _You’ve just done bad things, and you know that they were bad, and you should want to move on from wishing you did them differently. You should want to leave that behind, because you can’t change it. You can acknowledge it and learn from your mistakes without it consuming you. That’s the point of growth! That’s how you get better!_

And even if Goro will not forgive himself, he thinks maybe that’s all right, because it might be better for it to be that way, at least for a while. Even if Akira never fully forgives him, he thinks that’s okay too, because they’re getting—somewhere.

Goro wants to understand Akira so, so badly. Wants to understand his kindness.

 _There’s a lot of good stuff in you,_ Ann had said.

Goro wants to believe that too. He wants to try, because he likes the start of this new life he has, he likes—not being alone. He doesn’t want to be afraid of abandonment. And he’s giving _himself_ this new life, this new chance.

Goro wants to be happy, as unachievable as it may feel.

* * *

“You should give him a tour,” Morgana says from his spot on the table. His tail flicks back and forth, _fwip, fwip,_ almost like the rhythm of a clock, or like a pocket watch used for hypnosis.

Goro rubs his face. He was nearly late to this dinner invitation; the earlier part of his day was spent in his apartment with Akira, and he’d lost track of time, which seems to be happening quite frequently now. He’s glad he made the decision to pick out clothes the night before, because otherwise he would have definitely been late, and not only would that have been quite out of character, but it wouldn’t have made a good impression, either.

And Goro is all about those.

“Perhaps another time,” Makoto says, voice a bit sour (Goro can’t tell if it’s towards Morgana’s suggestion or towards himself), as she gestures Goro to the living room space. She still lives with Sae, which Goro thinks is somewhat sweet.

He’s been here once before; it was a long while back when he and Sae wanted to go over some paperwork before the next day. It was already eveningtime when she approached him about it, and Goro had said _I need dinner_ (because he hadn’t eaten anything the entire day, not because he was trying to avoid doing the work), and so Sae offered to make him something, and, well—that was it. He had dinner with Sae and they looked at paperwork and then went home. It’s a nice memory, looking back at it.

Goro muses about how easily he is swayed by the prospect of food but doesn’t draw any conclusions from it, kind of. He grew up poor. There wasn’t ever a ton to eat, and most of his caregivers weren’t always jumping at the opportunity to feed him.

All right, he draws one conclusion.

“I see you’ve gotten a new couch,” he says, attempting some semblance of small talk, unsure if he should sit on it yet or not despite Makoto’s earlier gesturing.

“Yes, we—did,” Makoto affirms, voice catching halfway through the statement. “I didn’t know you’ve been here before.”  
“Only once. It was with your sister. We were looking over paperwork. I’m not sure if you were home at the time.”

“Oh, right. I had forgotten you two were friends.” She bites her lip, as if debating whether or not she should say what she’s thinking. Some part of her seems to have decided to bite the bullet, though, because she continues on. “I was jealous of your relationship, actually.”

That statement got Goro’s attention. He looks away from the couch and right at Makoto. “Really?” he asks, feeling a bit stupid.

“Yes, really. I thought she liked you more than me.”

“Ah, um.” He desperately sifts through his brain for an appropriate response. “I’m sorry. I hope you know that that isn’t—”

“—isn’t true, yes, I know.” She gestures at the couch again. “You can sit down, you know. I’m going to cook, but there are a few things I’d like to discuss before I get started.”

“You should show Akechi-kun how to cook!” Morgana pipes up from the table, hopping off it and strolling over to the couch. He takes a seat right next to Goro. “Akira told me you don’t know how to cook.”

“I—that’s right. I don’t know.”

He clenches his teeth a bit until he feels it in his gums. Why are all of these people so unconcerned all the time?

“I can show him, if he would really like me to,” Makoto offers, sitting on a chair diagonal to the couch.

“No thanks.” Goro waves his hand slightly. “I’ll have to pass this time.” He doesn’t want to have to go out of his way to do something he hadn’t prepared for. Not that he doesn’t appreciate the idea, but—now isn’t the time.

“I was hoping that would be your reply.” Makoto smooths out her skirt; Goro admires her honest answer. “How have you been?”

Goro mulls over possible answers, reflecting on the absolute fiasco of a night he had yesterday, and settles for, “Things have been fine.”

“That was barely convincing, but I won’t push you,” Makoto says, almost haughty.

Goro crosses his legs and sighs, absentmindedly drawing circles on the fabric of the couch with his index finger. “What about yourself? How have you been?” He glances at Morgana. “And you?”

“I’ve been all right,” Makoto replies. “A bit stressed, but it’s little things, nothing of too much importance. University… problems, mostly.”

“I’ve been good!” Morgana says, tail still going. “Sorry I haven’t really talked to you yet, though.”

“Uh, don’t worry about that.” The next time Goro uses _uh,_ he’s going to snip his vocal chords, he swears on it. “Have you been busy, then?”

“Sort of. Haru’s been travelling a lot this year and likes when I come along with her.”

“I see.” _Travelling._ It makes Goro feel better to hear that, kind of, because at least now he knows why she isn’t around often. At least now Goro knows that she hasn’t disappeared just because he has returned.

“She tries to say hello whenever she has time,” Makoto adds. “The last time she’s had the chance to was when you came to Leblanc, interestingly.”

Goro nods because he isn’t sure how else to react. He’s also decided that further exploration of the topic would lead to tension and that it would be best to make no further comments. It’s already relatively tense as it is, but there isn’t any need for more.

He keeps drawing patterns on the couch with his finger—figure eights and swirls, over and over again. Morgana watches attentively.

“Akechi-kun, I hope you don’t mind me changing the subject so suddenly, but I have some questions I’d like to ask you.” Makoto leans back against the chair more comfortably, as if preparing herself to conduct an interrogation. Her posture is so much like Sae’s.

“Not all at once, please,” Goro says in a pathetic attempt at sounding jokey, and it makes him feel like he’s on television again.

“Right.” Makoto looks pointedly at Morgana.

A beat of silence passes. It’s horribly awkward. This would be better if Goro had a drink to busy his hands and eyes with, and he considers asking, but the gaze Makoto has on him is too intimidating.

“We were wondering if you were being honest when you said you didn’t know how you survived the engine room,” Morgana finally says, repositioning himself.

That’s an easy starting question, at least. “I was being honest.” He pauses. “When I woke up, it had felt like I had taken a very long nap in a tank of warm water. That’s the only discernible memory of it that I have, and I’m not sure if it counts for anything. I figured that since I can hardly remember anything, trying to find out where exactly I was would be pointless.”

“Why do you think that?” Makoto asks, genuinely curious.

“I can only assume it had something to do with the Metaverse, which is now gone.”

“The Metaverse collapsed in December, though,” Morgana says. “Didn’t you say you came back in April?”

“Yes, I did. Like I said, I don’t know, and I don’t have a particular interest in knowing, either. I’m content with keeping the memory as that of a nap.”

“That’s fair, I suppose,” Makoto muses, touching her hand to her chin. “Regardless, it _is_ strange that you happened to come back in April as opposed to any other time.” She hums. “And I assume that because of it all, the public has forgotten about you?”

Goro sucks in a breath, already sick of this topic. “That’s what seems to have happened.”

“Does it bother you?” Morgana asks, hopping onto his lap. Goro jolts slightly at the sudden sensation. He’s never had a cat, and they’re heavier than they look. It’s like the legs of a table are digging into his thighs.

“It bothered me a bit at first,” he says truthfully. “But it was sort of nice after I got used to it. It was like a blank slate, somewhat.”

“Somewhat?” Morgana sits.

“Somewhat. It’s only somewhat because an _ideal_ blank slate would have involved me forgetting who I am entirely.”

Makoto frowns, but does not address what he’s said, which is fine. Goro’s glad she doesn’t mention it, actually. Although she is quite intimidating, Makoto is easy to have a conversation with because of her analytical mannerisms. They’re slightly different from Goro’s mannerisms, of course—like Akira, she can see the bigger picture. “Why did we remember you, then?”

“My guess is that it’s because we knew how you died. Or, kind of died. Disappeared,” Morgana interjects. “Maybe it’s because we were close with you. Did Takemi remember who you were?”

“No, she didn’t,” Goro says. At least he thinks she didn’t remember; she hadn’t shown any signs of knowing. “But I’m not so sure she knew who I was beyond a boy that was on television from time to time, like just about everyone else.”

Goro wonders if Sae would remember him. He debated asking where she was when he first arrived but decided against it, worried that it would be too hasty of a question to ask. He’s pretty confident that she would remember him, considering she’s known him longer than the rest of the Thieves.

He hopes she would remember him.

“Actually, there’s something I’d like to ask,” he says suddenly, straightening his back.

Makoto nods at him.

“Why weren’t any of you mad at me?”

Her face is riddled with confusion. “Pardon?”

“When I walked into Leblanc, you weren't mad at me. Nobody kicked me out.” Pause. “Instead you all sat quietly for a while and then continued talking as if I weren’t there.”

“Oh, just because we weren’t saying anything doesn’t mean we weren’t mad. Though, either way, I highly doubt anger was the first emotion that any of us had.”

“Well—I apologize if it’s a bit boorish of me to ask, but why were you behaving so strangely?”

“Akechi-kun, you know that we _are_ civilized, correct?” Makoto gives him another one of her hard glares and Goro can feel his skin start melting from the muscle.

“I do know that, but if I were you, I would have told me to leave.”

“That sentence was weird,” Morgana says.

Goro nearly frowns. “You know what I mean.”

Morgana whacks his tail against Goro’s face. “Y’know, now that I’m thinking about it, I’m pretty surprised Ryuji or Futaba didn’t have some kind of outburst.”

“I will say that from your perspective, it must have been a bit odd that we were unanimously calm.” Makoto smooths out her skirt again. It looks like that might be a nervous habit. “I think that, quite truthfully, you surprised us into silence. We never discussed it with one another because it made Akira upset, but often I wondered whether or not you had really died.”

Because it made Akira upset.

“I think that had I reacted angrily, there would be the possibility that you would then get angry at me, and then everyone else would be angry and it would be a bit of a disaster.”

“Also, you looked really scared,” Morgana says, hopping up onto the armrest. He’s very… _mobile_ today. “I mean, I’m not a human being, but I could read your facial expression. I was worried you were gonna throw up. That would’ve been gross.”

“Oh,” Goro manages.

“So I think everyone else probably saw how afraid you looked and it kind of—made them speechless! Either that or they thought that yelling would make you feel worse. It’s probably a combination of the two. And maybe some other stuff.”

“Oh,” Goro repeats.

Makoto cuts in before Morgana can say anything else. “Do you think we would be so inconsiderate as to yell at you?”

“I don’t mean to paint you as animals, but I was trying to look at the situation from another angle other than my own.” Pause. “May I explain?”

“If you’d like,” Makoto says.

“First: you were all under the impression that I had died or that I had gone missing, and then I suddenly reappeared without warning nor explanation.” He looks at Makoto, and her eyes urge him to continue. “Second: You were all well aware that I was the reason as to why Haru’s father died.” Another look. “And third: I tried to kill you. With the combination of these three things—I’d assume it’s enough to make someone angry. Or, at the very least, a little _testy._ ”

He’d like to get some answers now.

At least with Makoto and Morgana he doesn’t feel as though he needs to dance through any of the questions he has. They both are relatively to the point in their responses, and as a plus, Morgana has always been adept at lightening the mood, even if it’s sometimes in an annoying way. This became clear to Goro during his time in Mementos with them.

Something about the weirdly scented candle sitting on the table makes Goro’s brain tick and he reaches out to pet Morgana tentatively. Cats are—supposed to help people calm down, if he remembers correctly. Goro is calm now, more or less, but—

“What’re you doing?” Morgana asks.

Goro retracts his hand. “I apologize. You looked…” he searches for words, “...soft.”

Silence follows.

“Wow,” Morgana says. “Well, you can go ahead, if you really want to.”

Goro resumes petting him. Perhaps this experience would be different if Morgana were less sentient.

“Akechi-kun,” Makoto whispers in a strange, soft tone that doesn’t seem to bode anything unstressful, “listen to me.”

Goro had become so consumed with petting Morgana he had forgotten where he was. Makoto’s voice is like a pin drop in a dark room.

He looks at her.

“I want you to know, first and foremost, that I am mad at you.”

Goro frowns. He’s well aware of that. “I see.”

“But I do not hate you,” she continues. “And I am not mad at you in the way you might think I am.”

“I believe you,” Goro says slowly, unsure what to fill the pause of silence with.

“There are two details you’re forgetting about. Would you like to take a guess as to what these details are?” Despite the stoniness of her voice and the context of the conversation, there is nothing malicious there.

“I don’t have the first clue.”

“Funny, considering you’re a detective,” Makoto says, voice slow and deliberate, but again, lacking in malice.

Goro’s eye twitches. He doesn’t like how she’s stalling for time here; it’s almost as if she doesn’t want to say what she’s thinking. If this is the actual problem, then she’s either about to say something very, very terrible or very, very kind, and the prospect of either one of them makes Goro feel slightly nauseated—one moreso than the other.

“Well?” he asks, hating how impatient he sounds. This evening has been filled with far too many awkward silences.

“Yes, right,” Makoto mumbles, as if coming out of a trance. “The first detail you forgot is that we didn’t reject you. We offered you a place back on the team, even right after you’d gone berserk. It was a unanimous decision, too—if it weren’t, we wouldn’t have offered.”

Goro doesn’t know what to say, so he looks at his knees.

 _That’s right._ They did say that. The memory is slightly blurry, clouded by the surplus of adrenaline that was present at the time, but he never forgot that they had said that. He couldn't forget it, not with the way they were staring at him, and how desperately he had wanted them to look away at anything else.

At the time, Goro had thought that they were giving him stares of pity and offers of pity—but he knows now that neither of those had a trace of pity in them. They do not pity Goro. They might have, for some amount of time, but it’s clear by the way they talk to him that this is no longer the case.

And it wasn’t that he had forgotten that detail, no; he wanted _them_ to forget it. Wanted them to forget the way he looked and sounded and behaved and a million, million other things that they will never forget. They cannot wipe their memories, especially not of something like that.

“The second detail you’ve forgotten,” Makoto continues, voice much more even and calm now, “is that—although it was perhaps the stupidest decision in the history of man—you tried to…” Her voice trails off, suddenly, and she stops speaking.

Goro glances up from his knees. “I tried to…?”

“Sacrifice yourself,” Morgana finishes. “I suppose you didn’t try. You did it, full stop. We were… incredibly stupid in not stopping you. We even… I mean, we had the chance to. But we didn’t.”

This time, rather than having nothing to say, Goro has a lot to say. He tries very hard to not scoff, biting on the inside of his lip so the sound doesn’t escape, but it probably seems as though he’s going a bit hysterical because a small, strange squeak type of thing escapes through instead.

Perhaps he is going hysterical.

“I agree with Morgana,” Makoto nods. “We should have done something. In fact, at the time, we—”

“—I don’t want to hear it,” Goro interrupts, sternly as he can. “I’ve had a conversation similar to this with Akira, and I said to him that I don’t think I would have accepted your help. Please do a universal favor and stop regretting that. Or, hm—stop dwelling on it so much.”

Makoto is the one to frown this time. “It’s not so simple.”

“How?”

She sighs. “Akechi-kun, imagine—imagine watching someone die in front of you, and realizing that there was something you could have done to stop that death. Imagine it’s someone meaningful to you.” She glares at him, hard. “We can’t simply ‘stop dwelling’ on that, even though you’re here now. Perhaps you’d be in a different place had we tried to stop you. A better place.”

“I’m fine with where I am now,” he lies. “But I suppose I can understand where you’re coming from.”

“ _Perhaps,_ ” Makoto echoes.

“Hey, speaking of Akira,” Morgana says, even though they weren’t really talking about Akira, “do you see him often, Akechi?”

Goro doesn’t know how to answer that; Akira never told him whether or not he wanted the others to know if they were dating. Thinking about it now, they really should have discussed this, especially considering how much time they’ve had together in the short period since The Great Ice Cream Incident, but they haven’t discussed it, which is unfortunate.

He’s overthinking this. It isn’t a difficult question, and the answer also doesn’t have anything to necessarily do with dating. He doesn’t have to reveal that because the question didn’t even hint at that.

Goro inhales. “We see each other fairly regularly, yes.”

“How is he?” Morgana asks.

“He’s—he’s been fine. What are you getting at?”

“Calm down, this isn’t an interrogation,” Makoto says. “Since about March, I’d say, Akira has been acting very distant from all of us.”

“And we don’t think it has anything to do with you,” Morgana adds rather hastily, so much so that Goro narrows his eyes at the cat for a split second. “It kind of just started happening all at once. He’s not the most open person on the planet, especially about his own issues, but it’s just been… weirdly more obvious lately. He kind of actively ignores us, sometimes.”

Goro hadn’t noticed. He doesn’t know how to gauge the appropriateness of Akira’s emotions; for the most part, his disposition around him hasn’t changed very much, which is hopefully a good thing.

“He’s open with me,” Goro says, not realizing how truthful the words are until they come out of his mouth. If Akira is more open with Goro than he is with all of his other friends, whom he is assumingly closer to, that’s definitely peculiar. “I don’t think he’s mad at any of you, though. I’m not sure how meaningful that statement is coming from me, but I’d like to say it regardless.”

If Akira _was_ mad, he would have either told Goro or confronted the problem directly. Part of him wonders if something happened between all of them that Makoto and Morgana aren’t mentioning, but that likely isn’t the case. Makoto is smart enough to bring something like that up if she had to.

He thinks that she would; Goro isn’t sure. This isn’t a problem he’s ever had to deal with.

“Sometimes he goes all quiet and disappears when we’re all hanging out together. It’s only for twenty minute intervals, but it’s still really strange. When he comes back he always looks kind of shaken.”

“That doesn’t sound like him,” Goro says, brows furrowing. “Did something happen in March?”

“Not that we know of.” Makoto leans back in the chair a bit and sighs. “I’m glad Morgana brought this up, actually, because it’s something we’ve been worried about for a while. He’s even doing it with Ryuji, who he’s always been most open with, which is what makes it so concerning.”

“Did you ever think to bring this up with him?”

Makoto huffs. “Of course we have. He denied it. Part of me thought that he just needed some time to himself, because he’s always rushing around, but it’s been about five months now, and…” she sighs, “...nothing has changed. I don’t want to act like it’s something that needs fixing, because I’m not sure how well he’d take that sentiment, but…” She trails off.

 _Nothing has changed_. Goro’s been back in Akira’s life for a little over a month now, and while Akira is still apparently closed-off towards everybody else, he’s open with Goro. Akira hasn’t given any indication that anything is wrong, not really, besides the obvious issues he and Goro are already talking about and working out. If nothing happened in March, and this isn’t situational, then—

—something seems off.

“Your face is all weird, Akechi-kun,” Morgana says, leaping onto the floor with a soft _patpat._ “Everything okay?”

Goro gives an apprehensive laugh. “Yes, I’m… detective-ing.”

It would be different if it were situational. It would be different if this was about Goro, not about some mysterious thing. He may be overthinking it a bit, or perhaps overworrying, because Akira hasn’t shown any concerning behavior as a result of whatever this is—at least, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t. If he had, Goro likes to think that Makoto would have mentioned it.

The next time Goro sees him, he’ll bring it up. At least, he’ll bring it up if he can find an appropriate way to segue the conversation.

“Have you come up with anything?” Morgana asks. “Wow, you’re even doing the thing where you put your hand on your chin and stare off into space! You only did that in Sae’s palace when you were really thinking hard.”

Goro blinks and jerks back, removing his hand and dropping it to the couch with a frustrated exhale. “Sorry, I guess that’s just an old habit. And no, I haven’t come up with anything, unfortunately, but I’m going to find a way to ask him about it. Not directly, of course, but I’ll find a way.”

“I’ll leave it up to you, then. Please let me know if he tells you anything important.” Makoto says, forehead wrinkling. Goro can imagine how frustrating it must be to hear that Akira is more open with _Akechi Goro_ than his other friends. “I think we’ve talked enough. I’m sorry it got a bit off topic; I hadn’t intended to spend this much time on everything. Let me—let me get dinner ready.”

“All right,” Goro says, nodding. “There’s no need to apologize, though. Ah… what should I do while I wait? Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, I don’t need any help, just—um.” Makoto’s already migrated to the kitchen now, and she’s left staring at the cabinets in response to Goro’s question. “I forgot that you would have to wait. How about…” she audibly taps her foot against the ground, “...Morgana, could you show him around?”

“What, like give him a house tour?” Morgana asks from his spot on the floor. “What’s the point of that?”

“I can’t think of anything else and I feel bad having him stare at his phone or the couch fabric,” she admits. “Please just show him around.”

Morgana makes some kind of cat noise, which Goro supposes is an indication of acquiescence, and then _patpats_ out of the living room and down the hallway. It’s a bit strange having a cat give a tour of a house, and Goro thinks that if he told his younger self that this would happen when he got older, his younger self would hit him in the face and say something like _you’re trying to make me look stupid._

Always with the dramatics. Goro has to shake his head at such a silly image.

“Uh, here’s the bathroom,” Morgana says, sitting outside of the door and glancing to and from Goro and the door. He wishes… that this wasn’t happening, this stupid awkwardness, because it’s a bit irritating, but perhaps the best way to think of it is as a small price to pay for a free meal. Not that it was entirely free, because Goro had to pay extra train fare to get here, but it’s—fine.

He wonders what Akira is doing.

“It seems to be the bathroom door,” Goro says, and he can’t help but be smug. He feels much more like himself tonight (as opposed to yesterday night), and whether that’s because of Morgana or the fact that he’s in Makoto’s house, he isn’t sure. It’s helping him with conversation, though, and that’s what’s important. “Rather than a bathroom, I mean.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure if it’s polite to open it up, so it’s all you’re getting.” Morgana yawns. “I can’t really give you a tour, because all the doors are closed and I don’t think it’s a great idea to intrude.”

“I also don’t think it’s a great idea to intrude.” He’s saying this somewhat offhandedly, distracted by a bug crawling along the ceiling. Goro wonders what it’s like, to be an insect, equally disgusting and fascinating in the eyes of many, and to not know other people perceive them as such.

Goro frowns, because now he’s sympathizing with a bug.

Morgana seems to already be done with this house tour as he has slipped out from Goro’s sight and slunk back down the hall and to the kitchen. Goro steadily follows him and reclaims the spot he had previously taken on the couch, then pulls his phone out. He’s going to have to be content with uselessly sitting around and—what had Makoto said?—staring at his phone and the couch fabric.  

 **[6:43 PM] Akira:** how’s it going?

Morgana hops up and sits next to him.

 **[6:57 PM] Me:** It’s fine, just a little awkward  
**[6:58 PM] Me:** But not because of anything bad, really, Makoto’s making dinner right now and I have nothing to do and Morgana is trying to look at my phone  
**[7:00 PM] Akira:** HA  
**[7:00 PM] Akira:** tell him i said hi

“Akira says hi,” he tells Morgana with a rather intense pat to the head.

“Tell him I say hi back!” Morgana yelps, trying to get a closer look at Goro’s messages. He angles his body away from him and is thankful for being gifted with flexibility.

 **[7:01 PM] Me:** He also says hil  
**[7:01 PM] Me:** *Hi  
**[7:01 PM] Me:** He’s still trying very hard to look at my messages  
**[7:02 PM] Akira:** what’s wrong with that?? not like our messages are incriminating or anything

Goro doesn’t know how to tell Akira that there’s a heart next to his name in his contacts list.

 **[7:03 PM] Me:** I suppose so  
**[7:03 PM] Me:** Will you be around tonight?  
**[7:04 PM] Akira:** i can come over if you want me to :)

“Is he telling you about the party?” Morgana asks, trying to climb over Goro’s shoulder now. He sighs and turns his phone off, making a mental note to reply as soon as possible.

“Can you please stop treating me like I’m some sort of personal treehouse?” His tone is more irritable than he had intended. “And what party?”

“Sorry! You just have really sturdy, uh, shoulders.” Morgana jumps off, then, and settles down on the couch yet again. “You haven’t heard about the party?”

“I did react in a way that conveys that sentiment, yes.”

“I was just making sure! Akechi-kun, you’re nicer than I thought you were gonna be, but I didn’t miss your smartass attitude.”

Goro isn’t sure whether or not that first bit is a compliment but he smiles pleasantly nonetheless. “I apologize if I’ve offended you. Please tell me about this party, though, before my patience drains away.”

“Okay, fine, fine. The party. It was originally Ryuji’s idea. He brought it up in April, and I think when he said it back then it was just a hypothetical thing, but maybe a week ago he mentioned it again. And he sounded more serious that time.”

“What—you’re providing me with minimal details. What kind of party is it? What for?”

“You ask so many questions,” Morgana grumbles. “Can’t you just let me talk?”

“I would, if you actually—”

“—Ryuji just wanted all of us to get together,” Makoto interrupts. “It’s not so often we’re all free at the same time, and I think he misses that. There isn’t a specific purpose for it—no birthdays or anything like that—but I think that because you’ve returned, he’s started thinking about it again.”

Goro isn’t too sure how he feels about going to something like that.

On one hand, it would be a good chance to talk to them all at once, to explain things and offer a massive apology. And if that’s too awkward and scripted (which it very well may be), at least he would be able to make a peaceful appearance. Hopefully.

On the other hand, though, it also has the potential for disaster, because it’s all of them at once again, and that is a lot of individual standards he needs to meet. It likely wouldn’t be as bad as he’s making it out in his head, but there are still plenty of opportunities for something to go awry.

“He does seem to be more serious about it this time around, I will agree,” Makoto continues. “Actually, I believe he and Yusuke are coming up with ideas for it.”

“Do you have any idea when this… party would take place?”

“If I had to guess, it would be in a few weeks, at least.” Makoto clangs something together in the kitchen. “Ryuji isn’t the most punctual person, so I’m not sure if any proclamation of a date he’d give would hold up.”

“Oh,” Goro says, feeling a bit dumb. He hasn’t ever been to a party like this one, not really; the closest Goro has gotten was some little thing at work for Sae’s birthday, but that was eons ago.

“You can ask him about it if you’re that curious,” she says. “I’m just about done, by the way, so you can sit down if you like.”

Wordlessly, Goro stands. He probably won’t ask Ryuji about it; he’ll probably wait for more information to surface on its own, because the whole thing is a bit frustrating to think about. It isn’t for a few weeks, either, so there’s time for… things to happen.

Before he sits, Goro takes out his phone.

 **[7:11 PM] Me:** Would you mind coming over?  
**[7:11 PM] Me:** My bed… gets cold.  
**[7:12 PM] Akira:** very cute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter was less shuake-y and more business-y(??)... it's the only one that's gonna be like this, promise!  
> as always, thank you for reading... I apologize for the consistently lengthy chapters. I've debated splitting the chapters into smaller ones, but who knows.
> 
> I'm on twitter @bloomedvillain!


	6. scenes from a midnight movie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for an abuse mention

The next few days pass in peace.

It rains most of the time; only a couple of sunny spots appear and they don’t stay for long. Because of the weather, there are only a few things to do: work, stay at home, go to Leblanc, run to the movies, rinse and repeat. It isn’t really a bad thing—the repetitiveness is somewhat calming and helpful, even, because there’s no need to think too hard about plans. Everything falls together in an unscheduled flow.

Goro has always been a rather obsessive planner, so this is a nice change. It’s also a strange step outside of what he’s comfortable with, but not necessarily a bad one either. Most days he spends with Akira, one he spends with Ann, and for half an hour he is left alone with Futaba and they have a conversation about online shopping with one another and everything is all right. Truthfully, everything is better than all right. It’s uncannily _good._ Great, almost. It definitely has the potential to be great.

Goro can’t remember a time he’s felt as carefree as he does now.

Unfortunately, though, he couldn’t find a chance to bring up the party nor Akira’s supposed strange behavior, the former primarily being because he doesn’t care much about the party. He doesn’t bring up the latter because he thinks it might be suspicious to suddenly say something like that to Akira when he acts _fine_ around Goro. There isn’t anything out of the ordinary for him to point out.

Not until today, that is.

Goro wakes up to the sound of the rain as well as the sound of his phone ringing again. This time, though, it isn’t seven in the morning; it is three in the morning, and the caller ID doesn’t belong to Makoto, it belongs to Akira.

He sits up in bed and rubs his eyes as he fumbles for his phone. Usually he would still be awake at this hour, but he was unusually tired today—perhaps from the rain and from running to buy popsicles several times, seeing as Futaba kept asking for more—and fell asleep rather easily. He didn’t remember whatever his dreams were, either. It was pleasant.

“Akira?” he says into his phone, failing to hide the sleepiness in his voice. It sounds more like he’s laying inside of a sleeping bag than on a futon.

“Uh, hey, Goro,” comes the response, nervous and awkward sounding. Goro frowns. It’s one thing for Akira to call him at three o’clock in the morning, but it’s another for him to sound so _off._

“It’s—it’s very early in the morning,” he says dumbly, as if Akira didn’t already know that. “Are you all right? Why are you awake?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just…” He trails off, voice wobbling midway through the sentence.

Goro sits up properly. He doesn’t feel so sleepy anymore. “Akira, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing, I swear. I—”

“—please don’t do that,” Goro interrupts. “Clearly something is happening if you’re calling me at three in the morning. You don’t have to tell me exactly what’s wrong if you don’t want to, but at least be honest and tell me that there’s _something._ ”

Inside of his head, somebody calls Goro a hypocrite, and his mouth twists in a funny way because he knows it’s true. He does the same thing that Akira is doing.

Now is not the time to be thinking about that, though.

Akira is silent for a moment that feels far too long. Goro knows that he is still on the other end because there’s a little rustling noise halfway through the pause.

“I’m sorry,” Goro says, voice softer this time around. He wants to smack himself; he hadn’t meant to upset Akira. “I didn’t mean to get so short with you. It just sounded like something had happened and I was concerned.”

“No, it’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong. And you’re right in your, uh, intuition anyway. I was just thinking.”

Relief washes over Goro and he hears himself sigh. “Thinking about what?”

“A lot of things.” Pause.  “That’s kind of vague, sorry. I should stop doing that. I had a nightmare.”

Goro feels like he needs to do something about this. He feels like he should go over to Akira’s apartment, or something, not sit here in this stupid futon in the dark, but the trains aren’t running and it would take too long to bike. Also, in the long run, acting on that in the spur of the moment might not be the best idea anyway.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” Goro says, standing up. He slides his bedroom door open and heads to the kitchen to get himself some water. He tells himself it’ll help him think better, even though it probably won’t. He just needs an excuse to stand and walk around a little, though, technically, he doesn’t really need to justify that with anything. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s not even… I mean, it’s not super unusual for me to get nightmares. They don’t happen all the time, but every now and then I get one. I just stay up for a while and then try to go back to sleep. If I can’t fall back asleep, I shower or… clean, things like that. Sometimes I walk around. Not a big deal.”

“I see,” Goro says, merely to indicate that he’s listening. He holds his phone against his ear with his shoulder as he gets himself the water.

“It was different this time, though.”

Goro moves to sit down at the table, legs criss cross on the chair. He stares at a scratch mark on the leg of the table as Akira speaks and distantly wonders how on earth the scratch got there. “How so?”

“I woke up Ann and Ryuji,” he says. “That hasn’t ever happened before.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just from—shouting, I guess? I don’t know. I’m not sure why it feels like such a big deal this time around.”

Goro stares at his cup of water. “I apologize for the assumption, but it sounds like you’re embarrassed by it.”

“Yeah, I guess I am, honestly.” There’s a shuffling noise in the background. “I think it’s because they haven’t ever seen me like that before. In a home setting, I mean. The Metaverse doesn’t count because that was an all around stressful experience.”

“You’re more bothered by the fact that Ann and Ryuj—Sakamoto-kun, sorry—saw you upset than the dream itself?”

“The dream was whatever. Obviously it was upsetting, they’re always upsetting, but there’s something about being so vulnerable that made me feel... weird. Something about it made the whole thing worse. Usually when it happens I wake up, sigh a little, and either go back to sleep or stay awake quietly. I’m not sure why my, er… brain—body?—reacted differently this time.”  

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with feeling like that,” Goro says, and his statement surprises himself. “You’ve, ah, always faced a lot of pressure, from both yourself and the people around you as well. So I can imagine how being in a vulnerable position like that would be particularly stressful.”

“Yeah, and it’s kind of becoming a problem. Hold on a second,” Akira’s voice almost cuts off at the end and Goro frowns again, but waits as he is told, tapping his finger against his glass of water in the meantime.

 _Kind of becoming a problem._ Goro thinks back to what Makoto had said: Akira randomly goes off on his own, disappears, and returns more quiet than he was before. She had thought it was because he needed time to himself, and part of that is likely true, but—Goro thinks he has a better idea of what’s going on just from this.

Akira is still probably holding himself up to the ridiculous standard that he isn’t allowed to be fazed by anything. He’s keeping too much locked away inside himself because that wasn’t what _Joker_ did, it wasn’t what the _leader_ did. He had to quietly accept everything, and the tendency seems to have stuck.

It sounds like everything is starting to catch up with him, and it is catching up with him all at once.

Goro puts his cup in the sink and goes back to his room, sliding the door shut and double checking that it’s locked. He kicks a stray book to the side of the room, vowing to actually clean up tomorrow, before he lays back down and listens to the continued silence on the other line.

He takes a deep breath. Goro can’t bring up his hypothesis to Akira yet, not until he’s more sure of it, and because it feels improper to do it over the phone. This is something Goro absolutely does not want to make assumptions about—it’s like a case. Goro made sure to never make assumptions during investigations; it would be wise to start applying that rule to people as well.

“Hey, sorry,” Akira suddenly says. “Ann was asking me some stuff. Did you fall asleep?”

“No, I’m still here. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, she just wanted to make sure I’d be fine if she went back to sleep.” Pause. “Which I would be.”

“She sounds worried,” Goro says vaguely. “Do you not like that?”

“Do I not like what?”

“When people worry about you,” he clarifies. “I hope that didn’t sound incriminating. It just seems as though her concern made you uncomfortable.”

“Uhhh.” There’s a soft sigh, and Goro prepares himself for Akira to avoid answering the question. “I’m not sure.”

It’s okay that Akira doesn’t want to answer that question; there are some things Akira has asked in the past that Goro opted to not answer as well. One day, perhaps he will be comfortable enough revealing certain feelings without stressing over being perceived as _not-Joker-enough_. If he’s been internalizing all the events from two years ago for this long, though, it’s probably starting to feel not so great—Goro knows firsthand. He can only imagine what it’s like for Akira.

“That’s all right,” Goro says, humming. “Would you like to talk about the dream?”

“Not particularly.”

Despite the rejection to his offer—which is completely understandable anyway—Goro’s glad that Akira is honest with him. It’s a specific type of intimacy he hasn’t really had the privilege of having with anyone, and in a way, it’s reassuring.

“Maybe some other time,” Akira continues. “I don’t remember most of it anyway, so I couldn’t provide a lot of details about it. It’s not because of you or—“

“I know.” Goro didn’t want to hear the rest of whatever that sentence would have been. “Don’t worry about it, Akira.”

“Okay, okay. I’m being pretty dramatic about all of this. Sorry if I woke you up, by the way. I know that you don’t go to sleep until it’s late, but you sounded tired when you answered the phone.”

“I was sleeping, but it’s all right. You really don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“You know that you would do the exact same thing,” Akira huffs, but Goro can hear him laugh too. “Anyway—are you busy tomorrow? Or, today, I guess, since it’s past midnight.”

“It’s strange to hear you sound so nervous,” Goro mumbles, and—oops, he hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but it came out anyway. “But I’m—I’m not busy, no. Do you need me to accompany you on more errands?”

Akira laughs again. “It’s just chance that we always end up doing errands together. No, no errands this time, I was—well, actually—”

“So there is an errand,” Goro cuts in.

“I need to buy a new phone charger,” he mutters, almost dejectedly. “But after that I was wondering if you wanted to go to the park.”

“The park,” Goro repeats.

“Yes, the park. You don’t have to come with me to get the phone charger, by the way, I live in Akihabara so it isn’t far.”

“I’ll come along, I don’t mind, but—why the park? What do you propose we do there?”

“Um, I don’t know, park things. I’m sure there’ll be plenty to do. Have you never been to a park before?”

“Yes, I have been to a park before, and I am certain that I have done plenty of ‘park things’ too.”

“Are you against enjoying nature or something? We don’t have to go if you hate trees and grass that much.”

Goro smiles to himself. “I’m only being haughty. I’ll come to the park with you.”

“Okay, great.” Once again there are shuffling noises in the background—it sounds like blankets. “Just text me when you’re awake and we can figure it out from there.”

Akira, ever the planner. In a moment of strained nostalgia, Goro looks back on the multiple times Akira called a “last-minute meeting” during their infiltration of Sae’s palace. Goro always got the texts at the most comically inconvenient times and had to drop whatever he was doing to run over to Leblanc. There hadn't been a point in rushing in the way that he had, because Ryuji was nearly half an hour late to the meetings every single time.

It’s funny, thinking about it now. He was so eager for something he couldn’t even put his finger on.

“Goro? You still there?” a voice says through the phone.

He hadn’t realized he was spacing out. “Yes, I’m here, I apologize. I’ll text you.”

“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Um—goodnight, Goro.” The awkwardness in his voice is so horribly noticeable.

“Goodnight,” he echoes, and there’s awkwardness in Goro’s own voice as well.

But is a familiar fondness too.

* * *

It’s noon and Goro is lost in an electronics store.

He met Akira near a vending machine half an hour ago as they had planned. They bought each other funny drinks and attempted to finish them before they went inside the store, but Akira’s spicy coffee was so awful that he had to throw it away. Goro pretended to mourn the loss of his few yen and made fun of Akira for throwing out the drink.

Then they had headed inside the store.

It’s—a big store. Goro hasn’t ever been inside of it; most of the electronics he owns now are from secondhand shops and the things he owned a few years back were bought locally. The store is overwhelming, to say the least, not because of the amount of people shopping but because of the amount of _products_ available.

“The first time I took Futaba here she got lost,” Akira had said as they walked down an aisle. “So don’t get lost.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Goro had replied, and, well—those words were absolutely meaningless.

Before going to the aisle with phone chargers, they had looked at useless and overpriced products: televisions too large to fit through Goro’s front door, massage chairs, strange digital clocks in the shape of cars and so on. A lot of it was very tacky, and Goro could not fathom why anybody would want to buy half of these things.

Goro doesn’t know how they got separated. One minute he was staring at an ad play on one of the televisions and the next Akira was gone; maybe he had told Goro where he was going but Goro wasn’t listening, or something. Either way, Akira is missing, and Goro doesn’t know a thing about half the items in this store, nor their placement, nor where Akira might have gone off to.

This whole thing isn’t rocket science, but it certainly feels like it’s turning out to be just that.

Goro takes out his phone.

 **[12:09 N] Me:** Where did you go?  
**[12:11 N] Me:** Akira  
**[12:11 N] Me:** Akira  
**[12:12 N] Me:** Akira  
**[12:15 N] Me:** Please answer your phone.  
**[12:16 N] Me:** I’m just going to keep standing here  
**[12:18 N] Me:** Akira

He sighs. He’s been leaning against a beam for nearly ten minutes now, and for whatever reason, Akira isn’t answering his messages nor his calls. He figures that moving around will only worsen the situation and hopes that Akira is searching for him and not staying in one place as well.

There is absolutely nothing to do other than hope for the best.

It really isn’t that big of a deal; it’s not as though they’re lost in a forest or anything. It’s just annoying, and probably going to be a bit time consuming as well, and Goro is very much ready to leave this store. There are too many… _products_.

He decides that he will wait another ten minutes, and if Akira doesn’t find him by the end of that, he’ll start hunting around on his own. He doesn’t particularly want to spend his afternoon standing in an electronics store, looking awfully suspicious, buddy-buddy with this beam, but that seems to be his fate thus far.

There are some soft footsteps and then a hand on his knee. Goro looks down.

A young boy is standing directly in front of him, staring up. He couldn’t be more than six years old, Goro thinks, and with a frown he wonders where this kid’s mom is. A quick glance around reveals that there doesn’t seem to be anyone looking for him, and Goro’s frown deepens, so much so that lines crease his forehead in an almost unflattering way.

Goro has never been good with kids. He’s polite to them, of course, but sometimes he looks at them for too long and remembers being in the boy’s home; he remembers the way older kids beat him and the rest of the younger ones. It isn’t kids’ fault that they remind him of that, but the memories are there nonetheless.

Half a minute passes, and Goro tries to distract himself by looking at his phone, but the boy isn’t leaving, his hand is still on Goro’s knee, and it’s starting to worry him.

He leans down. “Are you lost?”

The boy doesn’t say anything. Goro’s palms are sweaty.

“It’s all right if you are,” he says. “I’m lost too. I’m waiting for someone to find me, so I’ve been standing here.”

Goro doesn’t like the way he phrased that and shakes his head slightly.

“I’m lost,” the boy says quietly, poking Goro’s knee again. “Got lost.”

It feels weird, bending over like this, because it’s more like he’s towering over the boy than actually talking to him at his height, so Goro squats in front of him instead. “Who did you come here with? Your…”

He has to pause, then, to let the words dissolve on his tongue like a tab of poison before they come out of his mouth. “Your mother or your father? Or was it someone else?”

The boy sways back and forth. “Mom.” He’s starting to look more panicked with each passing second, which means he’s probably going to cry, and Goro isn’t ready for that. Not yet. Not here.

Perhaps Akira decided to wait up front, or something. Goro tells himself that this is most definitely the case because he really doesn’t want to stand around with a crying child and look heartless for staring at him and doing nothing to help.

He sighs.

“Shall we go find her?” he asks, tone as polite and calm as he can make it, which is very. It seems that years of learning how to suppress panic has found an actual use in the real world for something that doesn’t have to do with agendas and guns and et cetera. “I’ll help you look. Does that sound okay?”

The boy simply nods once and then outstretches his arms, and suddenly Goro is holding a young child who is starting to cry and this is definitely not what he had in mind when Akira offered to go to the park, now he’s lost in an electronics store with a kid and people are looking at him and—

“Goro!” comes a voice from a few feet away, that of which belongs to Akira. Goro spins on his heels; he’s sure he looks just as frightened as this boy he’s holding does, but there isn’t anything he can do about that.

“Where the hell were you?” Goro half-hisses, not because he’s necessarily mad at Akira but because this is a very stressful situation and there are now many, _many_ people staring at him.

“My phone died,” Akira says. “That’s why I needed to get the charger so badly. Why are you holding a child?”

Goro thinks his eyes might fall out soon. The boy is definitely crying now—there really is no stopping him—loud and right into his ear. “Because he’s lost and we’re going to find his mother.”

“We?” Akira’s eyebrows shoot up.

“We as in me and him. Would you like to help? I’d greatly appreciate it. I’m aging faster than normal, currently.” He has to speak louder so that Akira can hear him and it feels frustrating to do so.

“Sure, okay, come on.” Akira nudges his head towards the front of the store and Goro follows behind him, awkwardly patting the boy’s back all the while enduring more long stares from browsing customers.

They reach the little information desk and Akira is the one to approach the employee sitting there, which Goro is grateful for because he doesn’t think anyone would be able to hear his voice over this child anymore.

As Akira briefly explains the situation, Goro asks the boy, “How did you get lost?”

“Dunno,” he says, all sniffly and snotty.

“Do you want me to put you down?” Goro’s voice is more hesitant with this question for some reason; it almost feels like if he puts him down, he isn’t protecting him anymore or something, which is a sensation Goro can’t say he has ever experienced. At least—not with a stranger. Not with a young kid like this one.

“We can take him,” the employee says, gesturing to the boy before he can answer. “We’ll make an announcement over the loudspeaker. Feel free to return to your shopping.”  
Goro purses his lips. On one hand, he doesn’t want to see this boy’s mom, but on the other hand, he wants to make sure that he’s all right. The anxiety of seeing his mother is overriding the second feeling, though, and Goro figures it would be best to leave.

“I’m going to go now,” he says quietly to the boy. “Make sure to be careful, especially in big stores like this. It’s not your fault you got lost, but remember that.”

Goro hopes Akira isn’t watching him. These words are coming from some part of his heart he isn’t familiar with.

The boy nods and Goro sets him down for the employee to take. There’s a short moment where all Goro feels he can do is stare at the ground, motionless and lost in thought of the static sound his brain is producing.

He hopes the boy’s mother is looking for him. He hopes she’s worried. He hopes she will buy him candy, or something, and that they will go home and she will cook for him.

Goro wants to cry so very much. There’s a little thread holding him together and it’s starting to peel, right here in this stupid store.

“Hey,” Akira says softly, touching his shoulder. “I already paid for the charger. Why don’t we go?”

It takes a moment for Akira’s words to sink in before Goro slowly nods and Akira leads him out of the store with a hand on his back. The gesture makes him feel embarrassingly weak, even though he knows Akira doesn’t have pitiful intentions behind it. It’s like a vulnerable piece of Goro created long ago is manifesting itself. Something so inconsequential has muddied his thoughts.

When they’re outside, Akira finds a bench and sits Goro down on it and Goro lets him do it without any protesting.

“Sorry we got separated.” He fumbles for a moment as he shoves the phone charger into his pocket before he continues. “Are you okay? We can just go home, if you want.”

Goro isn’t sure what he means by home, because he has attached a _we_ to the word, and they don’t live together. “I’d still like to go to the park,” he says honestly. And then less honestly: “I’m all right, don’t worry.”

Akira folds his arms across his chest. “Goro. You don’t have to pretend. I mean, you don’t have to around me.”

 _You don’t have to pretend either,_ Goro wants to say, but doesn’t. “I just don’t particularly want to talk about it right now. I will be fine, I promise.”

It’s not a very convincing statement and the doubt on Akira’s face clearly supports this, but he kindly drops the subject nevertheless. “Can we get something to eat before we go?”

“Sure, but—could we bring it along with us?”

“Yeah,” Akira says, holding out his hand. “We can get whatever you want.”

Goro takes his hand and stands.

* * *

They’re sitting on a bench under a tree because the ground is still too wet from all the rain. They had narrowly avoided many mud puddles along the dirt path on the way to the bench, and Goro had grumbled about it the whole time. It was, fascinatingly, a very nice distraction.

Akira has his feet up on the bench and Goro sits with one leg crossed over the other. They had bought take out sushi—Goro feels as though that’s all he’s been eating lately, but he can’t complain about it—and split the price despite Akira’s protests to pay for all of it.

The sky is so blue today.

“I forgot to bring this up before, but how was Makoto?” Akira asks. He is struggling to keep the little sushi box balanced on one of his knees but tries to play it off cool. Goro thinks it’s very endearing and pretends not to notice.

“She seemed fine. She mentioned something about being stressed but said it wasn’t much of a big deal, which seemed to be an honest statement.”

“I think that she’s just always stressed.” More struggling. “Especially lately. She’s been very indecisive about career stuff or whatever”

“That’s a bit of a worrying thing to say.”

“I know that it sounds kind of bad. But she’s good at handling stress, unlike someone else I know.”

Goro rolls his eyes. “Of course, I had almost forgotten about my misfortune tendences. I think that in retrospect I handle stress well enough. Or perhaps—I handle it appropriately. In the context of said stresses.”

“Do you, though?” Akira gives up with his balancing attempts and sets the box next to himself. “You’re good at hiding the fact that you’re stressed, but not good at managing it. It’s obvious because when you slip up, you slip up pretty hard _._ ”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me. I know.” He sighs. “Can we talk about something else? I’m sick of thinking about myself.”

“Sure. What about Morgana? How was he?”

“He seemed fine, just rather restless. Kept jumping on and off the table and couch.” Goro wonders whether or not this would be a good time to bring up the party and decides that it probably is. “He mentioned something about a party Ryuji and Yusuke are working on putting together.”

“Oh yeah, the party.” Akira touches the ends of his hair. Goro has caught onto that habit by now—the different ways he plays with his hair depending on how he feels in certain situations. This one is indicative of nervousness. “I wasn’t sure if he was serious about it when he told me, but I guess it is if he’s got Yusuke in on it.”

“Niijima-san said it would still be a good while before they finished the planning.” He finishes the last piece of sushi and Akira patiently waits for him to speak again. “Would you want to go?”

“I’m not sure,” Akira says, a bit too quickly than was warranted. “I’d like to go, obviously, but it’s just so…”

Goro’s brows furrow. He wants to see if he can get Akira to open up with this in a way that doesn’t seem pushy or invasive. Or too obvious. “Just so?”

“Overwhelming, maybe.” He sighs and rubs his face with his hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.”

They’re nearing uncharted territory. Goro wrings his hands, carefully planning out his words in his head. He wants to help so, so much. But there’s only so many ways of wording all this without worrying it’ll sound like a pity party, which it obviously is not. He settles for: “What do you mean?”

Akira drops his legs off the bench with a huff. “I don’t feel like myself, or something. There’s periods of time where I don’t want to talk to anyone at all, and then other times where I want to talk to everyone. And I keep thinking I have to make up for the times when I don’t want to talk to anyone and I overcompensate and get so… worked up over it.” He laughs. “It’s dumb, sorry.”

“I don’t think it’s dumb,” Goro says seriously. “Do you think there’s perhaps a reason for it?”

“Probably,” he mumbles around his sushi. “I haven’t been super aware of it until just recently.”

“Would you like to hear my hypothesis?” Goro asks, smiling softly.

“Go ahead.” Akira gathers their trash and throws it in the bin behind him before turning his attention back to Goro.

“Excuse me if it sounds presumptuous,” Goro prefaces. “I think that everything that happened to you is starting to catch up. You internalized it for a while, I know, and I even watched you do so. You were worried about looking—maybe feeling is the better word—weak, because it seemed as though you weren’t in the position to be able to feel that way.” He switches the leg he has crossed with the other. “Am I right?”

“Maybe.” Akira touches the ends of his hair again, same as he had before. “I try not to think about myself too much. I think about other people instead, because it’s just—it’s what I do. Not that it’s easier doing that—or maybe it is, I guess. Sometimes I just wonder if it’s me running away from all my problems.” He scratches his cheek. “Did you know once in middle school I punched someone in the nose for picking on another kid? I wasn’t even thinking of the consequences.”

“I absolutely believe that,” Goro says with a laugh. “We’re somewhat alike in that respect, although I—”

“Wait,” Akira suddenly interrupts, and Goro stops speaking, immediately worrying that he has said too much or something wrong. But Akira continues: “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Goro asks, turning his head left and right. There isn’t anybody around them.

“A cat,” Akira says. “I heard a cat.”  

Goro starts to say _I didn’t hear anything_ but once again stops mid sentence because then he does, in fact, hear a cat. His first thought is that it’s Morgana, but that wouldn’t make sense at all because Morgana has no reason to be roaming around them and meowing. He has too much to say all the time; he would get right to the point, not meow to stave off conversation or be mysterious. Or something.

Goro looks up into the tree they’re sitting under.

“Ah,” he says, pointing at a branch. “I’ve found the source.”

Akira glances up as well and his eyes widen in an almost alarming way.

“It’s stuck in the tree,” Akira mumbles. “I thought that only happened in movies.”

“Yes, well, they—” Goro begins, and then yet _again_ stops, because Akira is now standing on the bench, still staring upwards at the cat. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to get it down.” Pause. “Can you help me get up there?”

“Jesus christ, are we firefighters now?” For a moment he regrets that he said _jesus christ_ in a very hissy way but then remembers that Akira doesn’t care about things like that and it pacifies him.

“Yes,” Akira says. “We just talked about my savior complex. Are you going to help me or not?”

Goro stands up on the bench. “Lots of saving today. Children, cats.”

“There are plenty of opportunities for more.”

“I’m sure there are. What do you propose I do to help you, exactly?”

“You can—well.” Akira stops, looking to and from the branch and Goro with a puzzled expression, like he’s playing a game of chess. “I’m not sure. You’re the smarter one, if I remember correctly.”

“Unfortunately I don’t have much experience in animal rescue.” He thinks. “Use the same principles you use around Morgana.”

“Morgana _talks,_ ” Akira says, continuing to look at the cat. “Can I sit on your shoulders?”

“I’m—I’m not so sure that would be tall enough to reach.”

“Can I stand on your shoulders, then?”

Goro stares, mouth agape. “I would rather not break any bones today. What about simply climbing up the tree?”

“I guess I could do that. You’ll still need to hoist me up a little bit.”

“I am almost positive that you could climb up this tree by yourself.”

“And why is that?”

Goro doesn’t say anything for an inappropriately long moment because he didn’t think Akira would have asked him that. With pink tinting his cheeks, he explains, “Because you’re very muscular.” He diverts his eyes and then hastily adds, “And you navigated the Metaverse without much of a problem.”

Akira lets out a sharp laugh. “I’m glad you think so. I would be happy to talk about my muscles more, but can you pretty please help me get this poor, baby cat down before we do that?”

“I wasn’t implying that—” He cuts himself off and sighs. This is—a conversation for another time. Or maybe a conversation that shouldn’t have a time. “All right, yes, I’ll help you. Please don’t break my scapulas.”

“I won’t,” Akira says, and it isn’t very reassuring. “Come stand over here and crouch down a little bit.”

Slightly huffy, Goro stands on the bench and moves to the spot he is instructed to go to. He squats down and Akira clambers onto his back, limbs all over the place and hands covering Goro’s eyes and nose.

“Please let me breath,” he says with a nasally voice.

“Whoops, sorry.” Akira removes his hands, and Goro stands back up, arms gripping Akira’s knees to hold him steady. He’s a bit smug about the fact that he’s able to hold him up, considering he doesn’t exercise nearly as much as he used to.

“It doesn’t seem that you can reach,” Goro says once he’s standing straight, stating the obvious.

Akira balances himself by holding a hand against the tree. “Uhhhh.” He tries to stretch a bit more but only the ends of his fingers reach. “Can you stand on your tiptoes or something?”

“If you fall and die it isn’t my fault,” Goro says, but he stands on his toes nonetheless. “And if I fall and die it’s _your_ fault.”

Akira wraps his hands around the branch in a quick, wobbly motion and exhales loudly.

“I’m going to have to use you as a footstool now,” he announces. “I’m sorry in advance if I ruin your shirt.”

“It’s fine, just hurry up. I feel like playground equipment,” Goro says quickly. His shoulders are starting to hurt and would really like Akira to get a move on.

And he does. He pulls himself up using the branch and Goro releases his knees so he can climb up onto his shoulders. Thankfully he doesn’t put down his full weight.

Goro gives him a bit of a boost up and Akira finally makes it onto the branch. It’s a relatively wide branch and only shakes slightly when he situates himself on it.

“What now?” Goro asks.

“I guess I’ll climb towards it,” Akira says, sounding very unsure of himself. The cat hasn’t moved, thankfully, but Goro stands underneath it just in case something happens.

Akira slowly inches towards the cat, holding his hand out as he does so. The cat still does not move, but the branch begins to lower the closer Akira gets to the middle part of it.

“Please keep sitting,” Akira says to the cat, voice strained. “Just keep sitting right there.”

Very, very carefully he picks the cat up with one hand, balancing himself on the branch with the other, until he’s back up in a normal seated position and can use two hands. He looks down at Goro.

“I’m not sure how to get down.”

Goro barks out a laugh. It sounds just ever so slightly hysterical. “I can see that.” He taps his finger against his chin. “Drop the cat down to me and I’ll catch it. Then you can get down.”

“Aw, will you catch me too?”

“I—that’s not what I said, but—“

“I’m just joking. I think it’s very romantic. Have you ever held a cat before, though?”

Goro distressfully mumbles _romantic_ under his breath. It is, perhaps. He thinks about it for half a second and a pack of butterflies manifest in his stomach. “I’ve petted Morgana,” he says.

“That doesn’t really mean anything.”

“Do you have any other suggestions, then?”

“No. Hold out your arms.” Akira looks down at Goro, face tense. “If you don’t catch this cat, I’ll seriously start crying.”

“I promise with all of my heart that I will catch this cat,” Goro says, and some part of him says _that’s not a lot of heart._ Goro doesn’t listen to it.

He holds out his arms.

“Ready?” Akira asks, sounding reluctant.

Goro nods, and Akira gets as close as he can to Goro’s hands before he drops the cat.

It lands safely and Akira audibly sighs.

It’s lighter and smaller than Goro thought it would be; it fits easily in his hands. The cat makes a squeaking noise but does not try to wiggle or jump away like Goro was worried it might have.

He wonders how the cat got up in the tree in the first place. It doesn’t seem particularly strong enough to be able to climb up on its own, and when Goro thinks about this, something in him sinks.

Akira hops down to the bench with a quiet noise, brushing off some dirt from his pants and shirt before turning his attention to Goro—more specifically, actually, he turns his attention to the cat, petting it on the head very daintily.

“It’s very small,” Goro notes.

“It sure is, detective,” Akira says, and then he pets Goro’s head instead of the cat’s.

He has to hold back his smile, and in doing so, a blush spreads across his face instead.

“I didn’t catch you,” he says, unhelpful to himself.

“Huh?”

“When you were joking about me catching you,” Goro clarifies. “You jumped down by yourself, so I wasn’t able to catch you.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Akira gently takes the cat from Goro’s hands. “There’s still plenty of time left in the day if you want to hold me that bad.”

Goro grits his teeth. “I was _not_ insinuating that. I was just mentioning the fact for posterity.”

“Whatever you say.”

It dawns on Goro that the more he talks, the more he backs himself into a corner, and the greater the upper hand Akira has. He says nothing in response save for a sigh and watches Akira dote over this tiny grey cat all the while.

Akira sits back down on the bench and Goro follows suit. The cat sits in between Akira’s legs, blinking its eyes sleepily and glancing around in a bit of a confused manner.

It’s a cute cat. He wonders what’s going to happen to it now that it isn’t stuck up in the tree. There isn’t anyone around—at least not right now there isn’t—to claim ownership of it, and Goro doesn’t have the funds to keep a cat, nor does he know anybody else that would be willing to take it.

This cat doesn’t even know what’s going on.

“What are you going to do with it?” Goro finally asks, caving in emotionally.

“I think I might keep it,” Akira says. Goro’s eyes widen.

“Keep? Is your apartment pet friendly?”

“No, it isn’t, but I’m good at hiding stuff.”

Goro could laugh. He does, actually, but it comes out as more of a sharp exhale. Akira gives him a look that says _what’s so funny?_ and Goro doesn’t know the answer.

“I probably won’t end up keeping it,” Akira then whispers. “It’s a nice thought, but Ann would kill me.”

“Does she… not like cats?” Goro asks slowly.

“No, she just has reason. And sense. More than me, anyway, when it comes to… things.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

Akira pokes the cat’s head and it makes another squeaking noise. “She likes cats just as much as me, but if she saved a cat from a tree, her first thought wouldn’t be to keep it as a pet. It would be to give it to a shelter, or something.”

“I don’t think that wanting to keep an animal you rescued makes you senseless.”

“Well, thanks for sparing my feelings,” Akira says. The cat has already fallen asleep in his lap.

“I wasn’t _sparing your feelings._ ”

And he wasn’t. Part of Goro knows that it is a bit unfeasible for Akira to want to keep this cat, especially considering that his apartment isn’t pet friendly. But another part of him understands it, understands why he wants to do so, understands what compels him to think that.

Akira doesn’t say anything, he simply sighs and keeps petting the cat. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about anything right now. That’s all right. Goro can do the talking.

“By the way, if that party ever ends up happening, let me know if you’d like to go. I’ll come with you.”

“You’ll only go if I go?” he asks.

“I suppose that’s what I accidentally implied, yes.”

“You’re making yourself sound like a plus-one,” Akira laughs.

“Perhaps I am.”

A frown. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m not saying it as if it’s a bad thing, though the longer I’m thinking about it, the worse it sounds. After all, I have always been less than second choice.”

His frown deepens. “Don’t say that, Goro.”

“I shouldn’t try to kid myself.”

“That doesn’t mean you should hate yourself, either.”

“When did I say anything about hating myself?” Goro asks, smile playing on his lips. He’s getting a bit over his head, here; words are falling out of his mouth and he isn’t thinking about their meaning anymore. Dangerous territory is approaching. Time to talk about something else.

“I apologize,” he says. “I hate to change the topic so suddenly again, but you should really decide what you’re going to do with this cat. I’d prefer that you didn’t form an attachment to it and then end up having to give it away.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“You could give it to Okumura-san,” he says. “Or—Ann was telling me about someone a while ago. Shiho, was it? I believe that’s what her name was.” Goro isn’t sure where this thought comes from, nor does he remember cognizantly thinking about it before saying it.

Akira smiles. “That’s a good idea, actually.”

“ _Actually._ You say it as if I never have good ideas at all.”

“Do you?”

Goro gently smacks him on the arm and Akira laughs again. “Are you purposefully trying to hurt my feelings?”

“Never,” Akira says, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Goro’s cheek. “Can I come back to your place when I figure out my cat problem?”

No matter what Akira would have justified his request to go over to Goro’s apartment with, his answer would always be the same. “Yes,” he says, simple.

* * *

Shiho adopts the cat without much second thought at all. According to Akira, Ann sent the photos he had taken of Goro with the cat sitting on his shoulder and she said _oh, I can’t…_ and then _actually, yes I can._

Akira cooks Goro dinner, claiming that it is in celebration of this, and while he does so, Goro falls asleep on his couch, dazed from how emotionally draining the afternoon was. He’s changed out of his shoe-stained shirt and into a shirt Ryuji had given him a short while ago.

 _For you, man,_ Ryuji had said, handing over a very poorly taped box. _Don’t think anything of it. I just wanted to give it to you, because, uh…_

He had trailed off for a moment, then, until he said, _Well, the reason isn’t important. Just take it._

And Goro had opened up the box to a horrendously yellow-colored shirt with clashing blue stars all over it and nearly burst into tears. It was the ugliest shirt he had ever seen and he thought it was perfect.

It was also about two sizes too big, and way too tacky, so it became a pajama shirt.

As he sleeps on the couch, Goro’s dream is vague, quiet, warm. There aren’t any specific details he picks out save for the feelings of it, but that’s enough.

He wakes up to Akira nudging his shoulder and petting his head, and at first, it only entices him to go back to sleep. That is, until he hears a soft, “You sure like being pet, huh.”

To which Goro grumbles a _no I do not_ and sits up, unsure what to do yet again with the warm feeling inside of his chest. He rubs at his eyes, trying and failing to get the drowsiness to go away, but failing quite gracefully. He leans back against the couch and closes his eyes, hardly thinking about anything else.

“Need me to carry you?” Akira asks, and there’s definitely a teasing tone in there, but it also sounds half-serious and Goro doesn’t know what to do about that.

He hasn’t been thinking about as many _things_ lately, which is good. At least, Goro thinks it’s good, because he has generally been feeling less terrible about living as a result, but at the same time, he can’t help and feel guilty too. It feels as though he’s actively _ignoring_ the events that transpired those few years ago, which he knows he definitely is not. It’s just moved to a different part of his brain, and that small, small broken Goro that exists inside of him isn’t happy about it.

It isn’t a bad thing. The logical part of him knows this. He knows that Futaba and Ann are right; he knows that dwelling on it and making it his entire life’s focus is more detrimental than anything else. He can acknowledge it but still not obsess over it.

This, though, is a thought for another time.

“Goooro,” Akira says, waving his hand in front of Goro’s face. “Come back to reality.”

“Oh, um.” He sits up again, rubs his eyes again. “I apologize. I’m getting up now.”

Akira helps him up.

It doesn’t take long for them to finish eating. They talk about the cat, mostly; Akira reports that Shiho has decided to name it Plum. Goro thinks that is a nice name.

“I’ve always wanted a dog,” Goro admits as he washes their plates. “I didn’t have any pets when I was growing up, but I liked watching the dogs run around parks and things like that.”

Akira is sitting on top of the couch, looking at his phone as he listens. “What kind of dog would you want?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t given it _that_ much thought. It’s more of a passing thing.”

“Maybe one day, yeah?”

Goro dries the plates and puts them away slowly. “Maybe one day,” he echoes, but isn’t too sure about the statement.

He’d like to have one, but—there are too many problems for that to happen for a long while.

Goro hadn’t ever envisioned himself living past eighteen; everything happening now seems far too surreal to actually be true. Goro wonders, every now and then, whether or not this is the reality he is living in or if it is a kind illusion that will one day fade away into nothingness.

It’s a very irrational thing to think. Most of the time Goro doesn’t feel very tangible. Hopefully that’s something that will go away.

Goro is about to add onto his previous statement about dogs when suddenly there is a shout and a very loud thud. He immediately turns to look into the area Akira was sitting and finds him laying on the ground with a very large grimace plastered onto his face.

“What—what on earth happened?” Goro asks, concerned, but also trying hard to not laugh. He holds out his hand to Akira who takes it and lets himself be yanked upwards back onto his feet.

“Fell off the couch,” he says unhelpfully.

“I can see that part.” Goro reaches out and fixes Akira’s glasses, which have gone askew from the fall. “But how?”

“I leaned back. Forgot that I wasn’t sitting on a chair.”

Goro turns around to hide his smile, which is a useless thing to do, because Akira puts his hand on his shoulder and nudges him back around.

“You know when you do that I can tell you’re laughing and don’t want me to see,” he says almost smugly.

“Yes, well.” Goro coughs into his hand. “You’re just… so very…”

“Intelligent?” Akira supplies, taking Goro’s hand and guiding him to sit on the couch—normally this time, as to avoid more falling. “Really skilled?”

“Not sure I’d call falling off of a couch _really skilled,_ but if you’d like to think it’s something along those lines you’re free to feel as such.” Goro reaches for the remote as he says this and turns on the television—which he has finally moved out of his room—solely so that there is background noise. Akira is already wrapping his arms around Goro’s shoulders and sliding his hands down to his hips. He presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

It’s very tender. So tender, in fact, that Goro quickly moves to kiss him on the mouth, and the television becomes a forgotten thing as it always does.

* * *

Goro wakes up in the early hours of the morning. Akira is sleeping.

Quietly, quietly, like an infiltration, he sneaks out of his room, typing up his hair along the way and goes into the bathroom.

He throws up his nightmare; the image of himself hanging by his feet in a large blood-painted room is fresh in his mind and is still there even when he’s left the bathroom gotten himself water in the kitchen.

He bangs his head hard against the cabinet and tries to not throw the glass of water on the floor. Miraculously he succeeds in not doing so.

Goro goes back to bed and stares at his hands, wondering whether or not they are really his.

* * *

Sakura Sojiro places a cup of coffee in front of Goro a few days later.

Goro is waiting for Akira, who went out to buy groceries for Sojiro. He is sitting in the spot he usually sits at while he waits, staring at a crossword puzzle. He cannot figure out a good amount of the words. This puzzle is at the end of the book and is supposedly one of the harder ones.

“You’ve been staring at that for a while,” Sojiro says, nudging his head at the crossword.

Goro looks up and offers a nod. “This one has been giving me a particular amount of problems.”

“Mind if I take a look at it?”

Goro turns the book in Sojiro’s direction with only the slightest bit of hesitation. They haven’t been alone—just the two of them—in quite some time, and he can’t help but feel a little bit nervous as he waits.

There are many things he wants to ask Sojiro. There are many things he wants to say, to explain, but he cannot bring himself to do any of those things and instead must sit and stay content with simply being amicable towards him. This, perhaps, is a good enough way of interacting, at least for the time being. It’s much too early for anything else.

Goro knows that Sojiro sees him in a different way now. It can’t be helped. Goro knows that he is aware of the role and involvement Goro played in all of the events that happened to Akira. Maybe someone has told Sojiro about Shido’s manipulation but he isn’t completely sure. He doesn’t want to ask Akira. He doesn’t want to ask Ann. He doesn’t want to ask Sojiro himself. He doesn’t want to think about Shido. Things go fuzzy when he does.

Maybe Sojiro _does_ know, because he has certainly been kind to Goro as of late.

Goro feels like his existence is nothing but added stress for everyone. The morning of his most recent nightmare featured Goro curled up in his futon, blankets over his head, with Akira gently shaking him and receiving no response. Sometimes he feels like this. Sometimes there are no words in his head. Sometimes he can’t do anything but try to make himself as small as possible because everything else is so big.

Akira worries. Goro doesn’t want him to.

He sighs quietly and tells himself to think about this at some other time. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like Sojiro has said anything to him, because he is still staring at the crossword.

“Have you figured anything out?” Goro asks, picking up his coffee.

Sojiro gives a halfhearted nod. “I think I might have.” He turns to crossword around again and points at one of the hints. “This should be ‘distress,’ not ‘distrust,’” he says, and launches into an explanation as to why. He’s very animated about the whole thing and his explanation makes sense; Goro realizes that he is correct and wonders how on earth he managed to make that mistake

“Thank you,” he says, and his genuine tone of voice surprises himself. “This makes figuring the rest out a lot easier.”

“Yeah, that’s how it is,” he replies, and Goro cannot tell if he is being passive aggressive about it or not.

Sojiro folds his arms back over one another and returns to his slouch posture. His attention returns to the television in the corner, which broadcasts some news channel.

“How did you notice my mistake so easily?” Goro asks, tapping the crossword to indicate what he’s talking about.

Sojiro laughs. It’s very gruff. “I’m a lot older than you,” he explains, “which means I’ve had a lot more time to do crossword puzzles than you, especially thanks to working here. Crossword puzzles are for old people.”

Goro frowns because Sojiro has definitely just called him old. He doesn’t want to be rude and give some kind of retort so he simply sits there, awkwardly holding his coffee and fueling the silence.

“I’m only half joking, of course,” Sojiro finally confesses. “Anyone can do crossword puzzles, but I don’t see many younger people do them these days.”

“Is that… a bad thing?” Goro decides to ask.

“Not necessarily.” Sojiro waves his hand. “People can do whatever they want. Kind of seems like everyone’s obsessed with using their phones now, though.”

“Is that also a bad thing?” Goro raises his eyebrow.

“Also not necessarily. I just don’t want it to be a bad influence on Futaba.”

Goro gives a little smile, because Sojiro has such old man energy.

He’s about to continue the conversation but the door jingles and in comes Akira, holding three bags of groceries in his hands and looking very sweaty. He hoists them up onto the counter with a loud huff and sighs.

Sojiro goes over to the bags and inspects the inside of them. “Why’re you so out of breath?”

“I only went to the store down the street,” Akira says as he sits down at a booth, “but it’s so humid outside that it was painful walking.”

Sojiro laughs. “I appreciate you buying them for me.”

“No problem.” He wipes some sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “Am I good to leave now?”

Goro picks up his coffee and makes haste to drink it. He wishes he had asked for more sugar.

“You’re free,” Sojiro says. “Where’re you going?”

“The arcade.” Akira stands up like he’s an elderly person with back problems, slowly and deliberately. Goro smiles. There was no point in him sitting down in the first place.

Sojiro nods. “Air conditioning in there, at least.”

Goro stands, thanks Sojiro for the coffee, and lets Akira tug him outside by the arm. They stop in the laundromat before leaving and Akira kisses him there with the tumble of clothes in the background and with sweaty hands and it all feels right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for so many kind comments and responses so far! I apologize for this being cheesy again.


	7. a wolf who wears sheep's clothes

“You are so damn slow,” Futaba says from her spot at the Leblanc counter. She fans herself with a book. “What happened to your hastiness?”

The cafe is long past closed now, nearly completely silent save for the sounds of Akira putting things away in the back. The street lights outside cast shadows all along the walls and floors in indistinctive shapes, rising and stretching and falling.

“I am not slow,” Goro says, setting down his wallet on the table. “And I do still have haste. Kitagawa-kun isn’t even here yet.”

“Yeah, but Yusuke is pretty good at being late. You’re supposed to be the punctual one.”

Akira laughs from his hidden spot in the back.

Goro isn’t _late._ He never gave the exact time he would be stopping by, and moreover, wasn’t aware that he would be stopping by at all until Futaba suggested it. He has been getting more and more used to spending time with the Thieves—his friends, perhaps, but he isn’t sure if that’s the right label to use yet—and asked a few of them if they wanted to get ramen for dinner. He even promised to pay, which was probably a mistake, but he can’t take it back now.

Futaba and Yusuke agreed, and Futaba asked that they all meet up at Leblanc before they go, despite how last minute it was.

“Cute clothes, by the way. Very new-you,” Futaba says, gesturing to Goro’s red flannel. “Although I’m _sure_ that I’ve seen Akira wear that before.”

Goro’s eye almost twitches. At this point, half of Goro and Akira’s entire wardrobes have switched locations; nearly all of Akira’s socks now live in Goro’s drawer, which is just fine. He does miss the socks with donuts on them that Ann had bought, though. 

“Is that so,” he says slowly. It is hardly a question.

“It _is_ so!” Futaba hops down from the counter and strolls over. She still seems wary when she approaches Goro—it’s evident in the way she walks—but it’s gotten better. Goro still doesn’t understand her compassion towards him, but he doesn’t want to ask about it, worrying that it may cause problems if he does. 

She leans forward a little bit and stares at Goro, inspecting his clothes and then his face.

“Why are you scrutinizing me?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Futaba stands on her tiptoes, apparently ready to whisper something. Goro leans down a bit and she asks, “When are you gonna tell us?”

Goro immediately feigns obliviousness, but then remembers that Futaba once planted a bug into his phone and that he never noticed it and that this is probably not something that will slip past her. “Tell you about what?”

“Do you really think I’m not that perceptive? I’m offended.” Futaba huffs overdramatically and crosses her arms over her chest for added effect. 

“Do enlighten me,” Goro says, unaffected. 

“It’s just really obvious when you’re so…” she wiggles her fingers in Akira’s direction, “...handsy. Also, you’re literally wearing his shirt.”

Akira laughs again and there is the sound of a loud _clang!_ , as if he had dropped something.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” she continues. “It’s cute, sometimes. Also kind of gross. And you do it in front of me all the time, soo…”

“We are not _handsy,_ ” Goro grits through his teeth. “I’m not indecent.”

“Okay, okay, I was exaggerating.” More hand waving. She’s very expressive about this. “But it’s really obvious, and the fact that your face is super red right now isn’t helping your case.”

Goro quickly turns around and faces the door, stupidly, as if that would make this any less embarrassing. He turns back around when he thinks his face has returned to normal. 

Akira hangs up his apron on a hook and turns the lights off over the back of the kitchen. Goro hasn’t ever seen Leblanc like this before, half lit and half unlit, covered in shadows. It could almost be haunting.

“We’ll tell everyone at the party,” Akira says, leaning against the countertop. “Where’s Yusuke?”

And, just at that moment, Yusuke appropriately opens the door to Leblanc. He comically freezes in place, one hand holding open the door and the other foot stepping forward.

“I apologize for being late,” he says, still frozen. “What will you be telling everyone at the party?”

“It’s a surprise!” Futaba answers quickly. “It’s a surprise. You’ll see. You’re still planning it, right?”

“Yes, it is being planned. I believe that it is going well.”

Goro isn’t sure what to make of the vagueness of that statement, so he says nothing, picking up his wallet and putting it back into his pocket instead.

“Are we leaving right now?” Yusuke unfreezes and stands normally, though he continues to hold open the door. The heat pours in like a stream. “Why didn’t you simply ask me to meet you at the restaurant later on?”

“Because it wouldn’t be fair to leave you out, if both of them came along with me and you didn’t.” Futaba kicks the ground with her foot. “And I don’t like riding the train by myself anyway.”

That makes sense, Goro thinks to himself. She could have only taken Akira with her, but she hadn’t, and it’s—sweet. Maybe that’s the word. He can’t help but wonder whether or not that is her real reasoning.

Yusuke clears his throat. “I have to pay extra train fare for this, though.”

“I’ll cover it for you,” Akira says. He claps Yusuke’s shoulder. “So don’t worry about it.”

They exit onto the street; Futaba shuts off the lights behind herself and locks the door. Goro remembers her saying that Sojiro gifted her with her own pair of keys to the cafe a year ago because she works there every now and then and figured it would be useful for her to have a pair. The keys have a little yellow iris flower charm attached to it.

“It’s hot,” Futaba says, fanning herself with her hand. “Let’s hurry up so I don’t melt.”

“Oh, my shoe,” Yusuke says, bending down to tie it. Futaba throws her hands up in exasperation and Goro smiles behind his hand.

It’s nice—this. It’s nice laughing with people like this in a non-fake-pleasant way, and it’s nice staying out late at night at places that aren’t the Metaverse or the police station or Shido’s office or behind buildings, breathing heavy, breathing panicked. Perhaps all of this isn’t normal circumstances-wise, but it’s normal actions-wise, at least. There isn’t anything abnormal about eating dinner with… friends. With people that mean something. 

Goro realizes, as he stands in the glow of the street lights, as he watches Futaba smack Yusuke’s shoulder over and over, as Akira laughs—that they do mean something to him. 

He only realizes that he’s spacing out when again when Akira touches his arm. 

“You okay?” he asks. “We’re finally ready, I think.” He then gestures to Yusuke, who is now giving Futaba a piggy-back ride. He’s saying something like _please don’t mess up my hair_ and Futaba giggles. 

“I’m all right,” Goro says, and this time he means it. 

* * *

Although Goro was the one who asked if they wanted to go out, Akira is the one that actually chose where they would eat. Thankfully it isn’t a super expensive place, because while he had offered to pay, Goro is certainly not made of money. 

The ramen bar Akira has chosen is very unlike the other ones Goro has been to. It must have been some other building in the past, because there is a lot of awkward open space near the back, unfurnished save for a single framed photo of a cat. The tables and chairs are a strange near-orange color and clash horrendously with the teal decorations strewn about in a seemingly random fashion.

Put simply, it’s very ugly, but it’s at least ugly-charming. It reminds Goro of the clothes that Akira wore when they first went fishing.

“How did you come across this place?” he asks Akira once they’ve sat down. Goro sits at the end seat, followed by Akira, then Futaba, and then Yusuke, and then two very loud businessmen.

“Ryuji and I went to the same ramen place for a super long time and we eventually wanted to try out other places.” He taps the table with a bitten down nail. “I think we’ve been to every ramen bar in the hundred kilometer radius.”

“Impressive,” Futaba chirps. Goro hadn’t realized that she was listening in on him. “You’ve probably spent more money on ramen than on Iwai’s guns.”

“I probably have. And it’s all been worth it, because now it’s my party trick.”

Goro makes a face. “Your party trick is knowing a lot of ramen bars?”

“That’s kind of pathetic,” Futaba says. “Can’t you like, do flips and stuff?”

“Only in the Metaverse.”  
The features on her face crumple up like a paper bag. “Disappointing.”

Goro hides his smile behind his hand again, pretending to look at the menu despite already knowing his order.

He had gotten food with Sae plenty of times in the past—too many times to count, definitely. He’s still not sure whether or not their relationship was a friendship, or if it was somewhere between that and being close co-workers. They rarely spoke about each other’s personal lives; it was always an _oh, I’m just stressed_ that was exchanged if either of them were acting out of the ordinary. Even so, she was always good company, and Goro hopes she would say the same for him.

Though, maybe she wouldn’t say that anymore.

Akira’s voice breaks his thoughts. “...besides, I don’t need a party trick.”

“Oh god,” Futaba says.

“Because I am the party.”

“Oh god,” she repeats, rubbing her eyes morosely. “You’re embarrassing me. You’re like a parent removed from reality.”

“Okay, well, what can you do? Some fancy stuff on your computer? People have to sit down for that and get comfortable to watch you.”

“Don’t insinuate that my process is a hassle,” she huffs. “It’s the end result that’s what important! Plus, Yusuke’s trick is like—painting! You have to sit around for that too!”

Yusuke lifts his head. “Actually, I can also name the titles of paintings simply by looking at a picture of them. I believe that is much more interesting, as people do not have to wait around.”

“Really?” Futaba pulls out her phone and searches for something. “What’s this one, then?”

“ _Travelers in Sagami Province,_ ” he says immediately. “By Hokusai.”

Goro is impressed.

“All right, fine, that’s fair,” Futaba grumbles. She turns her attention to Goro. “What can you do?”

He knew that this question would be coming his way, but he hadn’t spent any time thinking up an answer. Truthfully, he doesn’t know. “Truthfully, I don’t know,” he admits.

“You didn’t even think about it!”

“Ah, well.” Goro sighs and puts a hand on his chin. There are plenty of things he can do, but most of them feel far too pretentious or unorthodox to be considered interesting. “I’m good at trivia.”

“Good at trivia,” Futaba repeats. And again: “Good at trivia.”

It seems like her saying it this way should offend Goro, but it doesn’t. Instead he smiles.

Goro can run fast, and he’s pretty strong, and he’s very flexible, but none of those things felt like an appropriate answer. They don’t seem interesting enough. He can quote a large number of book passages word by word, but that might be too boring. He knows that it doesn’t matter at all and that all of these are pretty much equally impressive, but—well. 

“Why are you grinning like that? And what kind of triv—”

Futaba is cut off mid sentence because Akira nudges her to put in her ramen order, which she does. It takes up an awkward amount of time because Yusuke keeps changing his mind, and by the time everything has been settled, the conversation topic is long dead.

“Akira,” Yusuke says from his spot a few seats down, “have you had the reoccuring tape dream again?”

Goro had completely forgotten about that. Time is stretched out now; things that just happened feel so far away, and things that happened a long time ago feel so recent. He’s always had a bit of a muted sense of time, likely as a result of the constant stress he used to face, but it’s still irritating.

The sensation of an old memory rises to the surface in his brain—taking place a few months before he had reunited with Akira, where he was not living nor a human being. Days were mundane, back then, which wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but the fact of the matter is that they were also deliriously lonely and sad. The sun was wrapped in a shroud, the air in his apartment was noxious cyanide.

An open, empty field after a brush fire.

He turns his attention back to Yusuke. He’s missed a bit of the conversation.

“I’m surprised Sojiro hasn’t actually thrown any tape at you yet,” Futaba snickers. She taps her glass of water with her index finger.

“Sojiro thinks I’m great,” Akira says. “He’d never do that.”

Futaba continues to tap her glass. Goro really should start talking and stop zoning out. He hadn’t heard Akira’s answer to Yusuke’s question, and he was rather curious as to what it was.

Oh well!

“Has your—frog dream happened again, Kitagawa-kun?” he asks, feeling somewhat stupid when the words leave his mouth.

“Yes, but not as frequently as I used to have it. Lately I haven’t been remembering many of my dreams.”

“That means you’re not sleeping enough,” Futaba says.

Goro nods. “It could mean a variety of things, but that is one of them.” He can’t help but go on a tangent. “People that wake up multiple times in the night tend to remember their dreams better, and so do people that adapt to a regular sleep schedule.”

Akira smiles.

“And additionally, alarm clocks often disrupt dreams and cause us to forget them. Some people are more predispositioned to remember their dreams in general, depending on their perseverance to remember them. For example, writing dreams down—even small parts—helps to remember them more.”

“Wow,” Futaba says. “Why do you know so much about dreams?”

Goro tries to give a vague answer. “Trivia, remember?”

It’s one thing to have mostly nightmares, and it’s another thing to mostly have nightmares and then spend a lot of time looking into books about sleeping as a result of that. Which isn’t to say that Goro is obsessed with his dreams—he isn’t—but it’s nice to know what’s happening in his brain. 

They talk more about dreams, then, and Goro swifty avoids answering questions that pertain to him. It isn’t that he’s embarrassed at the fact that he has nightmares; no, it’s more that he doesn’t want to divulge the content in them. To Akira, perhaps, but not to everybody else. Not yet.

It doesn’t take too long for their food to come out, despite Futaba’s overdramatic exclamations that she is _going to die from starvation, I’m serious, you’re going to have to carry me home._ Coincidentally, Goro and Yusuke both ordered the same thing, but he isn’t sure if Yusuke knows because Futaba is leaning so far over the counter. She’s going on about a game she’s started playing.

Goro isn’t listening, though. He’s watching Akira twirl one of his chopsticks in his hand. 

He’s watching a bit too much, though, because Akira turns to him. “Am I distracting you? Sorry.”

“Oh, no, never,” Goro replies, a bit too quickly and he knows it. Akira stops playing with the chopstick.

“I was just waiting for the ramen to cool down a little,” he explains. “I did this—the twirling thing—all the time with pencils. I also did it with my phone, but a few months ago I accidentally dropped it and the screen cracked.”

“So you haven’t done it since?”

“I haven’t done it since,” Akira confirms.

Goro pats his shoulder. “Good job.”

“Eat your ramen!” Futaba shouts, and it attracts the attention of a few other customers. She giggles to herself. “This is what I mean by handsy.”

“I touched his shoulder,” Goro deadpans. 

Futaba ignores this and goes back to her ramen, continuing to talk about her game through mouthfuls of noodles. 

Goro sighs, chewing on the end of one of his nails, and then starts eating. Underneath the table, Akira gently kicks his ankle with his foot. Goro gently kicks his ankle back. 

Futaba shouts something about her ramen being way too hot and Goro laughs into his bowl.

Once, Goro remembers, he was at Leblanc ( _those few years ago_ ), and he burnt his tongue on the coffee Akira had made for him. He didn’t want anyone to know that it was far too hot for him, despite Akira’s _hey, uh, that’s probably still too hot to drink,_ so he put on his smile and begged his eyes to not water. It worked, somewhat. Akira definitely saw right through him but didn’t say anything, which was extremely polite.

At least there’s something he can laugh at himself about. 

“Handsy, huh,” comes a sudden voice quite close to Goro’s ear. He flinches at it and turns; nearly does a double take at he and Akira’s proximity.

“You know she was just joking,” Goro says through his teeth. It isn’t said in an angry way, no—it’s more surprise.

“I know.” Akira averts his eyes for a moment. “She has the potential to be _not_ -joking, though.”

“What is that even supposed to mean? You sound like—”

He has to stop mid sentence, then, because Akira’s gentle hand is on his thigh.

Goro truly isn’t sure what to do with himself in this moment, as this sort of thing has never happened to him before. He searches Akira’s face for an explanation, but only receives a smile in return.

“Wh—”

“Akechi-kun, how is your meal?” Yusuke asks from his end of the table. Goro isn’t sure whether or not this is good timing or bad timing. On one hand, it has the potential to be a diversion, but on the other hand, Goro can’t find his tongue to answer the question.

He implores the blood vessels in his face to calm down by simple sheer willpower, and prays to every god out there that it’s working as Futaba turns to face him. Her facial expression doesn’t seem to change, so perhaps he’s in the clear.

“It’s very good,” he says after an indiscernible amount of time passes. _Think, Goro, think. Add to the conversation,_ his brain says.

Akira scoots his chair forward a bit, probably to block Futaba and Yusuke’s line of vision, and he moves his hand farther up in the process.

“I was a little wary of what the food would be like because of the decorations they have here.” His voice is clear, smooth; he’s pleased with himself. Once again his forced public speaking skills have come in handy. “It’s been a nice surprise.”

“I was thinking the same thing when we first came in here,” Futaba says. “The decorations are really tacky. Just like Akira.”

“They are?”

“They are,” Futaba repeats. “You should’ve seen all the junk he’s got in his room now. There’s a ton of stuff.”

Akira merely snickers. He’s too absorbed in what he’s doing to reply, apparently. 

Goro pathetically tries to keep eating his ramen, but the room is getting warmer and warmer and eating something hot is not helpful whatsoever. Akira still hasn’t moved his hand away, and he eats as if nothing is happening at all. Which, to be fair, is not necessarily a false statement on his end. 

His hand moves up. Goro wonders if there is a landmine under his chair.

As inconspicuous as he can, he leans in towards Akira and whispers, “Are you feeling all right?”

Akira nods, setting his chopsticks down. “I feel great.” A glance at his bowl tells Goro that he’s already finished eating, which is ridiculous, but when he looks down at Futaba and Yusuke’s bowls, they’re nearly done as well.

“Am I a slow eater?” he asks, genuinely curious, momentarily forgetting about everything else.

“Not really, I just didn’t have any food all day. They eat pretty fast, though. So I’d say you’re not.” Akira nudges his head towards the other two, and as he does so, his hand presses further up and a tiny, embarrassing sound floats out from Goro’s lips. 

Thankfully, Futaba and Yusuke don’t hear it.

Goro, in that moment, decides that he’s done eating. He fumbles for his wallet, mentally counts up the total—he thanks his younger self for practicing math so much, obsessing over stupid college entrance exams that he never had the opportunity to take—and slaps the money on the table. This, unfortunately, does draw attention to him.

“You okay?” Futaba tilts her head.

Goro bites his cheek. This is pathetic, really. “I’m wonderful. I didn’t mean to do that so aggressively.” 

A poor lie.

“Want to see my apartment?” Akira asks too quickly, too randomly. “You haven’t seen it yet, so… it’s a good opportunity for you to look at all my apparent tacky decorations,” he adds, likely for posterity’s sake. 

“Sure,” Goro replies, also too quickly.

Akira removes his hand and stands—says, _well_ , _we’re gonna get going now_ —and then hugs Yusuke and Futaba goodbye— _you’ll be fine getting home, right?_ — _yep, I’ll be fine, Yusuke said he would come with me_ — _all right, I’ll see you,_ then holds out a hand to Goro, which he takes without hesitation. 

Goro says goodbye as well, apologizes for leaving early, says he hopes to see them soon. 

He does not miss the smug look on Futaba’s face she gives him on the way out. 

* * *

“Well,” Akira says, shutting the front door, “this is where I live.”

Goro looks around. It’s bigger than his own apartment, obviously, as it has to fit three people in it, but it’s still relatively compact. He notices that there are a lot of dishes piled up in the sink. The refrigerator is covered in post it notes and photos and horrible joke magnets. There are two calendars, too, for some unimaginable reason. They’ve got fans set up all around the place.

It also smells strange, like a mixture of peaches and incense and blown out candles. While not altogether unpleasant, it’s very strong, and very specific. The window in the front is open, but doesn’t seem to be doing much save for letting heat come in. Which is odd, Goro thinks, to have fans on and a window open.

“It’s very you,” he says, trying to read some of the post-its on the fridge. _Call parents!!!_ one says; another reads _do NOT unplug top wire in kitchen outlet near sink._

“Yeah, I know.” Akira wrings his hands together. They still haven’t moved from the entryway. “Sorry about the mess. Uh… Ann and Ryuji have been out all day, so nobody’s really cleaned.”

Silence.

Goro hurriedly thinks up something to fill the silence with. “Don’t worry about that. Ah… why does it smell so strange?” he asks. “Oh—and can I put this somewhere?” He waves his wallet in the air.

“You can just leave it on the table if you want.” He sniffs. “The smell? It’s probably because of Ann. She really likes candles.”

“Ah.”

More silence. 

“So—”

“Uh—”

Akira laughs. “You first.”

“No, I was just…” Goro taps his fingers together and mentally sighs. He takes one of Akira’s hands in his own and rubs his thumb across the top. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to show me your room. I wanna see those… tacky decorations that you apparently have.”

“Oh.” He smiles, then, slow and careful. “Sure. It’s this way.”

He leads Goro down the hall slightly and opens the door to his room and then turns on the lights. 

It’s—well, it’s messy. There are clothes all over the place, there’s a stack of papers in the corner of the room that seem to be in the process of slowly scattering themselves. His bed is unmade and wardrobe door is wide open. Posters and photos litter the walls. 

“This is also very you,” Goro says, and then feels stupid for saying it. 

“It _is_ my room,” Akira replies, closing the door _almost_ completely. “Is it as tacky as you thought it would be?”

“Oh, maybe even moreso.” Goro steps over to a shelf of sorts and looks at all the items laid out on it. There’s a cheap carnival stuffed bear, tons and tons of flag stickers all over the place and a few picture frames as well. He touches one that has a teal frame. “You parents?” he asks, looking back at Akira, who nods.

“Yeah. This is from, uh… before I left to come live back here. They insisted on taking a picture so that I’d have _a part of them with me_ or something like that.”

“Background’s nice,” Goro offers, because he isn’t sure what else to say.

Akira laughs, heavy and heartily. “This was probably the most awkward photo ever taken. They hardly talked to me when I went back home—I guess it was too awkward, maybe. I don’t know. The details don’t matter. The point is that it’s a stupid picture.”

Goro doesn’t know how to respond. He feels as though Akira doesn’t want him to, so instead he moves onto the next object, which is a very large and misshapen seashell. “You—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Akira is suddenly behind him, wrapping his arms around Goro’s waist and sighing a little. “Do you really want to keep looking at all the junk I own? Should I have prepared a tour?”

This time Goro laughs. “No, no. I only got curious. Give me a tour some other time.” 

Akira turns off one of the lamps and takes Goro’s hands again. “Come here,” he says quietly, and it doesn’t take much fumbling to get him to lay down. Akira’s touch feels so tender, so appreciative, that Goro gives into it quite readily. 

He lets Akira fix the pillows behind his head and then watches him sit back up and stare. 

“What?” Goro asks after a moment, eyebrow raising. “Is there something on me?”

“You’re very distracting,” Akira says simply.

Goro, of course, cannot believe what he’s hearing. He blushes and tries very hard to hide it by looking to the side but does not succeed. 

Akira gently takes Goro’s chin in his hand and tilts his head forward again, then leans down to press their lips together. It’s feathery at first, doesn’t last long, but when Akira pulls away Goro doesn’t think twice in tugging him back down, hands wrapped around his back. He melts into the pillows when they kiss more earnestly, more needily, more everything. 

Akira’s mouth tastes minty and it is all over his neck, his lips, his collarbone. It feels wonderful, Goro thinks hazily, just to kiss Akira. Time moves slower and his body is lighter; he is in the present for once instead of blindly grasping in at the past and at the future.

After a moment, Akira sits back up with a little sigh. He pushes the hair out of his eyes and tenderly places his hands on Goro’s cheeks.

“Your hair is so long,” Goro whispers dumbly.

“Yeah, I know.” He blows it away with his mouth this time. 

“It suits you.”

Akira smiles. “Thank you for flattering me,” he says, and then he leans back down and presses his lips to Goro’s once again.

* * *

 Crickets are singing outside.

They’re like a little choir of the night, all perched in random places human beings can never seem to find, speaking in turns. Crickets used to be bugs of loneliness, Goro thinks, as most of his memories of hearing them are composed of him laying awake late at night, by himself, fitfully trying to sleep or fitfully trying to _not_ sleep.

But he hears them now, in the dark of Akira’s room, and therefore they cannot be bugs of loneliness anymore.

Under the blankets, Akira’s arms are around Goro and their legs are tangled together like red ropes of fate. And the crickets keep singing, singing, singing, until Goro falls asleep and dreams of flying.

* * *

When Goro wakes, the first thing he notices is that Akira never fully shut the door to his room last night. He can’t remember the last time he slept with his bedroom door unlocked.

He rubs his forehead with the palm of his hand. Akira continues to sleep.

Light pours into the room. It runs across the door and the walls and part of the floor. It’s definitely not a morning light—more of an afternoon one. Sullenly, Goro wonders if he has ever slept past ten o’clock in the morning.

Truthfully, he never realized how absolutely sleep deprived he used to be. He remembers every now and then if he has a particularly bad night’s sleep; it makes him wonder how he functioned. Which—of course, is an ironic question in itself, because he was hardly functioning. 

But it’s very easy to pretend to be something you aren’t. Weren’t. Et cetera.

He sighs and cranes his neck to look at the bedside clock, which says that it’s approximately half past one. They hadn’t even gone to bed that late.

Through the crack in the door, he can hear the sound of voices down the hall. He can’t make out any of the words exactly, but there are a lot of rustling and clattering sounds accompanying it.

“Akira,” Goro whispers, turning and shaking his shoulder a bit. “It’s past noon.”

Akira mumbles something indiscernible in response and pulls the blanket higher up over his chin.

“I think we should get up,” Goro tries again. There is still no response.

With a sigh, Goro turns back to the nighttable and looks at the homescreen of Akira’s phone. There are six missed messages, all of which are from Yusuke.

“Kitagawa-kun texted you,” he says. “Six times, may I add.”

This gets Akira to open his eyes, finally. He rubs them before sitting up slightly, feeling around for his glasses but failing to locate them.

“Where are my glasses?” he asks, grasping around for nothing.

Goro hums. “I thought those were fake. I think you threw them somewhere, though. I don’t remember.”

“Ironically, I need actual glasses now.” He pets Goro on top of his head and smiles in that cat-like way of his. “What did Yusuke say?”

Goro hums again, leaning into the touch. “I didn’t read the messages, obviously.”

“Oh, right.” Goro hands over the phone and Akira takes it in his free hand, makes an angry sound when he messes up entering his passcode two times, and then finally gets to the messages.

“He wants help with a painting, apparently,” Akira reports. 

Goro, however, is far too immersed in Akira’s petting to pay close attention to what he’s saying. 

“You’re like a cat.” Akira leans in to give Goro a kiss but misses spectacularly and ends up at the corner of his mouth instead. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Oh, no, I didn’t. My apologies.”

“I said that Yusuke wants me to help him with a painting. Do you want to come with me?”

Goro thinks about it. There’s nothing he has to do today, not really, except go home and clean a bit and do a few other things along that line. It would be a good thing to go along, probably, if Yusuke agrees to letting him come.

“Sure, I’ll come along.” 

Akira smiles, and his eyes are so bright and sunny that Goro could cry. He wraps his arms around Akira and leans against the place between his neck and shoulder, letting out a soft sigh. _This is absolutely ridiculous_ , he thinks to himself. All these… _feelings_ are turning him into a pillow, emotionally.

“You okay?” Akira asks, and he’s running his hands through Goro’s hair again because he’s caught on to how much he likes it.

“I’m fine. You’re just, ah… warm.”

“Warm? It’s summertime. Everything’s warm.”

A huff. “Please don’t make me explain myself. I’ll have another psychotic break from the embarrassment, and you will have my corpse to deal with in your own home.”

“Well, I don’t want that. Lots of paperwork.” Akira presses a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re so cute, Goro. Very charming. You’ve come a long way.”

Goro doesn’t say anything in response, of course, because he’s too red in the face to think up something smug; he’s also blown speechless from that last bit. Instead he lifts his head up and connects his lips with Akira’s, hopefully quick enough so he didn’t have much of a chance to get a look at his face.

At first, Goro wasn’t sure how to handle the things he felt when he kissed Akira—he wasn’t used to touching in any fashion at all and it was a little strange, definitely exciting. Touches used to be harsh hands from those older than him and touches used to be pitiful shoulder grips from social workers and so on, so on, so on. 

But Akira—he is always so gentle, so careful and delicate. He doesn’t handle Goro like he could be broken at any moment, but every action is deliberate and fond nonetheless. And Goro always makes sure he treats Akira the same way; he doesn’t have to think about it much, either. It happens naturally. 

He feels like a human being. Black Mask made him feel like such a inkish entity. This is so much different.

Goro’s hands slowly glide up Akira’s arms until they’re around his shoulders and he’s pulling Akira down on top of him. The bedsheets are in an awful tangle, but neither of them seem to care, not with the way their mouths slide together, not with the way— 

Something bangs on the door, and it shocks Goro so much that he smacks his head against Akira’s. For a moment he had gone far back in time, back to being a kid, back to when he had to anticipate that _knockknock_ sound against a door.

“Are you guys ever gonna get the hell up? We made lunch,” a voice says, and Goro realizes it’s Ryuji’s. “Ann’s headin’ out, but I’m gonna be here for the rest of the day.”

“We’re awake, we’re awake!” Akira shouts. “I almost forgot they were home,” he mumbles, shifting off Goro despondently. He tentatively touches his forehead. “You might have left a mark.”

“Sorry,” Goro says, wincing. “I hadn’t meant to do that.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” He flattens his hair out. “Do you need clothes? And, uh—did you bring makeup with you?”

Goro frowns. “I do need clothes, thank you, but—why would I need makeup?”

There’s something particular about Akira’s smile, then, and when his fingers touch Goro’s neck, he knows exactly why it’s so particular. “You’ve got some… bruises, there. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, I like them. I mean—hm.” Goro could smack himself. In a pathetic attempt to recover, he asks, “Do you have any high-collar shirts?”   

“I do, but I’m pretty certain most of them are long sleeved. Unless you want to wear this ugly striped polo my cousin bought me on my birthday.” Pause. “I’ll keep that in mind, by the way. That you liked them.”

He grins.

Goro simmers in his own embarrassment. 

“The shirt can’t be that ugly,” he says after he clears his throat. “Show it to me.”

Slowly, like he’s in zero gravity, Akira clambers off his bed, picks up his glasses from the ground and moves toward the wardrobe. While he changes, Goro goes through his own unread messages—one of them being nothing but a smug ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ» from Futaba. 

“This one.” Goro glances up to see Akira waving around a striped tan and white polo shirt, and—he was right. It is kind of ugly. It looks like something a golfer would wear.

The other options, though, are turtlenecks and long sleeved button ups, and it’s much too hot to wear either of those. 

“Oh, fine, it’s fine. I’ll wear that.” Goro holds out his hand for the shirt.

Akira throws it at him and it lands on top of his head. 

* * *

Unfortunately, it started raining again, and so Yusuke had to cancel working on his painting. He had originally wanted to work on it in Chinatown, but refused to transport all his supplies in the rain, as they might get wet. 

Goro and Akira were already in Chinatown when he called them and said he couldn’t come. It was barely raining when he had called, but now, as the two of them make their way to the train station, it is downpouring. 

They had forgotten an umbrella. 

“Weather,” Akira says limply, holding his palms up towards the sky and watching the rain fall onto them, “has always been an inconvenience for me.”

Goro watches him and mirrors his actions with his left hand. “How so?” he asks, wincing when a drop of water falls into his eye. 

“Mementos.”

“Mementos?”

“Yeah.” Akira takes Goro’s hand in his and continues on to the station, purposely stepping in puddles. “The weather affected how the shadows acted in Mementos. Usually the effects were good, but also—nobody wanted to go to Mementos when the weather was bad. Especially during heatwaves.”

“I’m certain you went anyway.”

“Yeah. It was fine, I guess, just way more sweaty. I mean—it wasn’t very fine, but all we could do was complain about it. We had to bring a lot of stuff because everyone got tired faster than usual.”

“Hm.” Again, Goro opens his free hand to the sky and watches the rain fall against it. “You know, when I went, I hardly noticed that.”

“When you went with us?”

Goro shakes his head. “When I went by myself.”

“Oh.” Akira’s voice wavers a bit when he says this, as if there’s something else he means to add but isn’t sure whether or not it’s appropriate. 

The rain continues to fall.

“Did you date anyone before me?” Goro suddenly blurts, and he has to resist the urge to clap his hand over his mouth once the words are out of his mouth.

Fortunately, all Akira does is laugh. “I did. It was short-lived, though. I went back home for my last year of high school and dated a girl then, but that was it.”

“That’s it?”

“Is that surprising? I’m not sure if I should be offended or not.”

Goro’s eyes widen. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that, I was—”

“Joking. I know what you mean.” Akira kicks a stone as he walks. There’s plenty of space for him to kick it far ahead, as the streets are more or less empty due to this awful downpour. “I was really, uh, lonely, that year. Every hardship I experienced was with the people that live here. There wasn’t anyone that understood it back at my hometown.”

“Do you think you’ll ever move back there?” 

“I don’t think so.” He kicks the rock too hard and it disappears under a table. “I’ll visit, obviously. But all my friends are here now.”

“Do you miss it?” Goro wonders if he’s asking too many questions. 

“Sometimes. I miss things like my room and the park that was nearby.” Pause. “I think it’s good for me to live here, though. It keeps me in the present or whatever.”

Goro barks out a laugh. “Or whatever.”

“Yeah, or whatever. Why so interested in this stuff?”

Truthfully, Goro doesn’t know. Sometimes it’s just nice to hear Akira’s voice. 

“Detective’s secret,” he says, pressing his index finger to his lips. 

Akira grins. Almost immediately afterward, there is a crack of thunder—loud and hard—that echoes throughout the sky, followed by a low rumble.

“Great,” Goro mumbles, mostly under his breath. Akira steers them out of the road and underneath a small awning by a convenience store. They have to press their backs against the wall to avoid still being rained on, and it’s very annoying, to say the least.

Akira sighs and pulls at his shirt, which looks as though it has been dunked into a bucket of water. “Well,” he starts, “if you want we can run to the station, or we can wait and see if it gets any better.”

As he says this, Goro pulls out his phone, wipes it off on his pants (which does absolutely nothing, seeing as no article of clothing on himself is dry) and looks at the weather app. “According to this,” he says, showing his phone screen to Akira, “it’s going to be raining for a while.”

Akira groans and rubs one of his eyes. “So you’re saying we should try and run to the station.”

“I think that would probably be the better option, yes. I’m—my clothes feel disgusting.” For effect, Goro takes the end of his shirt and wrings it out. The two of them forlornly watch the water fall to the ground and blend in with a puddle already there.

“Mine too.” He makes a motion to wring out his shirt like Goro had. “We can go back to my apartment since it’s closer. Unless you need anything?”

“Uh.” Goro pretends that he does not have to do laundry. This is the fourth day he’s been pretending. “No, I don’t think I need anything. Do you—do you mind?”

“Do I mind what?” 

“Do you mind if I—stay over? I was just there last night, and Ann—”

Akira interrupts him by waving his hand around. “It’s fine, it’s fine, Goro. Why would I be inviting you if it wasn’t?”

Perhaps in another timeline, Goro would have huffed at that reply. Perhaps in another timeline where it wasn’t raining, where Goro was different, where everything is different, he would have said something snarky.

Instead, for some absolutely unknown reason, an emotion so intense wells up in his chest that he can’t help but start to cry.

“Akira,” he says, “Akira, I’m so sorry.”

Akira’s eyes widen. For a moment, he doesn’t do anything, only looks Goro up and down, unsure, until he reaches out and takes hold of his hand. “Hey—what are you sorry for?”

“Oh, just,” Goro takes a deep breath, “just everything. I’m sorry, Akira.”

“You don’t have to keep apolo—”

“I know that this is an inopportune time to talk about something serious, but I can’t keep sitting around with all of this in me. I wanted to be patient for you, but—”

“Goro, it’s fine, you’re fine. Hold on.” Akira steps into the rain and drags a chair underneath the awning. It makes a terrible metal scraping sound against the ground. Akira sits him down. He feels like a baby.

Akira squats down. He doesn’t sit. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Truthfully, Goro doesn’t entirely know. He made a promise to himself to only talk about this when Akira said they could, but it’s been eating him alive for far too long to be comfortable anymore. He doesn’t know whether or not Akira has been trying to put this off or if he forgets or if he genuinely isn’t ready to talk about it.

 _It_ being, of course— 

“You’re so kind to me,” Goro says, though it comes out a little blubbery. “You’re so kind to me, all the time, and I don’t understand. I know that you want to start over, or however you had phrased it before, but I don’t get it.”

Akira frowns slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ that—I don’t know how to put this in a light way. I tried to kill you, Akira. I killed Haru’s father. I’m an awful… person. I’m an awful person.” Saying it aloud feels good, in a way. It feels like needles all over the place. “I was a liar the entire time I was in the Phantom Thieves. I was a liar afterwards, and I was a liar before, and I’m a traitor, and you’re still so kind to me and I can’t even bring myself to accept it. Instead I’m sitting here crying like a child.”

Akira stops him before he continues onto his next sentence. “Goro,” he says, voice calm and gentle and all the things it should be in this situation but not at all what Goro feels he deserves. “Try to relax. You’re going to make yourself sick.” 

Goro swallows. Everything is all wrong inside of him.

“You know I’m not in the clear either, right?” he asks, running his thumb along the top of Goro’s hand. “The entire time I pretended that I didn’t know your plan. Myself and everyone else—we essentially allowed ourselves to just use you for information.”

“That’s hardly a problem, considering I—”

“—Let me finish,” Akira interrupts, voice stern. Goro lets him. “And then, in the end, when we all found out that you were being used by Shido too… we didn’t do anything. We watched you throw your life away and stood there like useless idiots.”

“You’re not a useless idiot.”

“That’s what you think. Listen, Goro…” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t think anybody can be considered innocent. None of us. Not me, not you, not Makoto or Ryuji or Ann—nobody. When it comes to forcing someone to change their cognition, I’m not so sure that anyone involved is… a bystander. You know?”

Goro doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything at all. But he keeps listening.

“I’m sorry for putting off this conversation for so long. In truth, I never really wanted to talk it out. I thought that ignoring it would solve everything, but I didn’t realize how much… damage it’s been doing to you. And I’m really sorry for that.”

“Oh, please don’t apologize for—”

“Will you let me be wrong?” Akira asks, smiling softly. “Just this one time, let me be wrong. You put so much blame on yourself all the time for things that you did when you were a teenager. For things that were out of your control. How old were you when you approached Shido?”

“Fifteen,” Goro mumbles.

“Fifteen. When I was fifteen, I was an idiot. So was everyone. When you were fifteen, you were lonely, and—”

“Thank you,” Goro says, shaking his head. “I get it. I understand. I didn’t realize what was going to happen.”

“Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you knew what I was getting at. How could you know that Shido was going to entrap you like he did? How could you know that he was going to make you hurt people? How could you know?”

“I should have known,” he whispers, voice like a sheet of ice.

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Pause. “Listen. I’m not trying to say that you’re forgiven. But this is a situation where… there’s no such thing as _right_ or _wrong._ We aren’t in a television show. People are more than just plain _good_ or plain _evil._ You have to stop labeling yourself that way. Clearly it’s killing you.”

“You’re being dramatic.” 

“Am I being dramatic, Goro? I’ve watched you beat yourself up for months and pretend that nothing is wrong because you’re so adamant that you’re some bad evil monster when, really, you’re just suffering the consequences of being a misguided adolescent.”

Goro wipes at his eyes and tries to calm his breathing. He practices the way he used to do it.

“You aren’t evil,” Akira says kindly. “I really don’t think you are. How can you be evil when you didn’t have a choice in what you were doing? How can you be evil when you know what you did is wrong? How can you be evil when it was life or death?”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “It’s what I’ve always thought. Bad people do bad things.”

“You can’t look at this surface level. You can’t call yourself a bad person based on only half of the picture, just like I can’t call myself innocent based on only half of the picture.”

Goro clenches and unclenches his fist in his lap. He knows that Akira is right about this. He’s the level headed one between the two of them, after all. “I know,” he whispers, reluctant to admit it aloud.

“You have a good heart.” Akira kisses Goro’s hand. “Even if you don’t think that you do. I can tell that you’re trying. I can tell that this means a lot to you, and I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

“I care about you a lot,” Goro says, feeling useless.

“I care about you too.” Akira stands, wipes at his pants uselessly. The rain has flattened out his usually-curly hair in a laughable way. 

“I’m sorry to be so sudden,” he says, standing from the chair, “but can we go to the station now?”

Even as they walk, though, the rain continues to fall.

* * *

And of course Akira had forgotten that Ryuji was at home. 

Akira haphazardly punches the pin into the door, having to retry three separate times. The downpour goes on, ridiculously, and Goro looks as though he’s just jumped into a pool and so has Akira. His feet feel absolutely disgusting—at this point there are essentially puddles inside his shoes—and walking became an almost painful task. 

Nevertheless, he’s clinging to Akira by the shoulder and hip, and they’re both giggling in an almost uncontrollable way. He isn’t sure why it’s happening—there’s just something incredibly funny about this entire situation, something so human, something so real that Goro hasn’t felt in who knows how long despite the earlier agony. Rain is more than one thing, he supposes.

Once Akira finally gets the door open, they stumble inside and one of them kicks the door shut with their foot—Goro isn’t sure who—and immediately their hands and mouths are on one another. 

Nevermind the lake of water forming on the ground by their feet. The poor hardwood doesn’t have a say in it.

Unfortunately, as said before, Akira had forgotten that Ryuji was home. 

He comes out from around the corner of the hallway, starting to say _what the hell’s with all the noise goin’ on—_ but stops midway into his sentence and makes an _eeueuuuggghhh_ sound. 

Goro and Akira fly apart from each other at almost vacuum seal speeds. 

“Dude,” Ryuji says, face contorted in a way that Goro didn’t think was physically possible, “I told you I’d be home all day.”

“Right, sorry,” Akira mumbles, pretending to fix his shirt, which is such a useless action at this point that even Ryuji can probably tell he’s doing it for absolutely no reason at all. 

Goro is trying to hard not to laugh despite the blanket of blush across his face. He’s biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt at composure. 

Ryuji makes some vague grumbling noises. “Just—just don’t do it again!” 

He then half-stomps back down the hallway and all that’s echoed is the sound of a door sliding shut. 

Akira sighs. “Sorry,” he says again. “I seriously forgot.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it at all. It was very amusing.” Goro looks down at his feet. “I hate to change the subject so quickly, but it seems that we’ve made a sizeable puddle.”

Another sigh. “Wonderful. Here, let’s—change again. Go to my room, get out whatever clothes you want, and, uh—stick the wet clothes in the sink for now, I guess. Or find some way to hang them out the window. I want to shower. I’m like a rinse cycle in every way possible right now.”

“Of course,” Goro replies, following Akira into his room. Akira wastes no time yanking a towel off the hook hanging on his wall and nearly sprints into the bathroom. 

Goro rubs his face with his hands and takes off his clothes, leaving them on the floor for now. It feels absolutely revolting; the humidity has started making everything a lot worse. 

He fishes through Akira’s wardrobe for something that isn’t long sleeved, which is apparently a more difficult task than he thought it would be. It’s all sweatshirts, sweatshirts, jackets, sweatshirts, sweaters—he finds only one t-shirt hidden near the bottom part, and it’s very pink and very wrinkled, and he’s not even sure if it belongs to Akira. It’s got some sort of cupcake design on it.

He puts it on. It’s all stretched out. 

Goro isn’t sure if Akira actually owns any pants that aren’t long, and would rather not go through the trouble of searching for a pair so instead he picks up the most nearby sweatpants and puts them on.

With an overdramatic sigh, Goro bends over and picks up the gross clothes. It’s still raining, so it would be a stupid idea to hang it out the window. He heads back to the kitchen, frowns at the sink, frowns at the clothes, and deposits them there anyway, because there truly isn’t anywhere else to put them.

“Nice puddle,” a voice says, and Goro almost jumps out of his skin. He wishes this whole flinching thing would stop happening to him soon, but it seems to be a reflex permanently embedded into his brain.

He turns to find Ryuji getting up from the floor, holding multiple towels in his arms and wearing a grimace on his face.

Goro folds his hands together. “Sorry?”

“I said, nice puddle.” Ryuji vaguely gestures at the ground and then at the towels in his arms by using his head. 

And even though it was just some water, Goro feels inexplicably annoying for almost forgetting about that already. It was enough that they hadn’t remembered Ryuji was home; now he’s wiping floors too. “Oh, you didn’t have to—I could have cleaned that up.” 

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” He hangs the towels over a chair. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Is it not? Goro can’t tell. 

He and Ryuji have hardly had the chance to be in the same room together without anybody else. Goro knows that Ryuji holds some particularly mixed feelings towards him—well, everybody does, but he’s at least the most open about it, which is saying something—and though they’re not particularly rude to one another, Goro still wants to be able to make a good impression.

Goro worries about apologizing. He worries that it will be too awkward, or too forced, or too insincere or too stressful for everyone or too—much. He worries that it won’t come out as genuine as he wants it to come out, which is why he’s been avoiding initiating it. At this point, is there even a need for an apology? Would that make things worse? Is it unnecessary? Can they tell through Goro’s actions how he feels?  
He can’t tell. He truly cannot tell. 

Nevertheless, there is something more situational Goro would like to apologize about. “Um,” he starts, dumbly, “I’m sorry for what happened a few minutes ago. We hadn’t—”

“It’s fine, it’s all good,” Ryuji interrupts with, shockingly, a laugh. “Just pretend like it didn’t happen. That’s all I need.”

“Right.” He taps his fingers together. “Anyway—”

“Wait, wait.” Ryuji moves closer to Goro, and he has to resist the impulse to take a step back. “Sorry I keep interrupting you, but it’s important. And I didn’t want you to go on a tangent.”

Goro’s brows furrow but he decides to ignore that last bit for the integrity of the conversation. “Yes?”

There’s a pause, then—a pause longer than should be appropriate. Ryuji rubs the back of his neck, looking around the room, seeming to search for words that can’t come to him yet. 

“Is everything okay?” Goro tries.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, it’s fine. I just wanted to say…” And then there’s more neck rubbing, less eye contact, “I just wanted to say thanks for coming back. I’m… glad that you did.”

Everything has come to a standstill in Goro’s brain. The gears have stopped. He says nothing.

“Akira never talked about it, but he was pretty upset for a long time, y’know? He was really confused and seemed… kinda lost. Maybe a little guilty too. But he’s a lot more like himself now, and I think it’s because of you.”

The gears are still not moving. 

“You could have chose to… I dunno, never see us again. But you did. And, uh… even if some of us still aren’t sure what we think about… certain things, it means a lot that you decided to come back.”

Somewhere, Goro thinks, _I hadn’t decided to come back. I wanted to visit once, and then leave._

But is that it? Had he really, truly felt that, or was that simply some excuse he was giving at himself at the time to fend of the feelings of selfishness?

He doesn’t know like usual.

“And, uh, one more thing,” Ryuji continues, and Goro wishes he would stop but cannot say anything, “I’m sorry for the stuff that happened to you. I was kinda angry at you for a while, but I did some thinking the past few months and… uh, yeah. I know sayin’ this doesn’t really erase it, but you didn’t deserve—”

“Stop, stop,” Goro finally manages to say. “I appreciate your words, I really do. But I don’t want to think about it here.” He wipes his eyes, wanting nothing more than to rip out his lacrimal glands.

“Oh, shit—sorry.” Ryuji continues to stand there, hands at his sides and occasionally twitching as if he’s apprehensive about _something._ And Goro isn’t sure what this apprehension is until he’s being hugged, and it feels all too familiar, feels all too much like the time after the museum. 

Even if it hurts, it is meaningful. He hugs Ryuji back, trying hard as he can to stop crying, but there’s something about the sensation of being embraced that makes it all the more tempting to cry.

He bites the inside of his cheek. Ryuji pulls away.

“Anyway,” he mumbles, “sorry again. Are you, uh, gonna stay for dinner?”

Goro gives a half-nod. “If I’m welcome.”

“Yeah, ‘course, man.” Ryuji claps him on the shoulder. It’s nice that he’s pretending nothing has just happened. “We gotta wait til Ann gets back, though, ‘cause she’ll kill me if we eat without her.”

And, before Goro can say anything else, Akira emerges from the bathroom with a smile on his face and a mess of hair. “Miss anything?” he asks, pushing a few extra pieces of hair out of his eyes.

Ryuji and Goro look at one another, and something in Goro is warmed by the other’s facial expression. “Nothing noteworthy,” he says quietly.

* * *

“That party is supposed to be next week,” Akira whispers. 

Goro’s got his arms wrapped around Akira and he’s laying his head on his chest. “Is it?”

“Yeah.”

“Were you… thinking of going?”

A nod. “I think I’m gonna go. I probably should. You said you’d come with me, right?”

“I’ll come along,” Goro says. It’s hard to pay attention to the conversation; he’s got his eyes closed and Akira is playing with his hair and it feels very nice. It hasn’t taken much time for him to discover how much he likes it when Akira does this. “Does everybody else know?”

“That it’s next week? I don’t think so. Ryuji told me after dinner and said to not mention it to anyone else because he’s not completely sure if they’ll be ready by then.”

“But you told me.”

Akira laughs quietly. “Okay, well. I’m sure he won’t be too offended.”

“Probably not.” It comes out all mumbled.

“Tired, there?” Akira then asks, attempting to turn slightly to the side to face Goro better.

“I think the rain sucked my soul away,” Goro manages, jokingly. 

More laughter. “Just sleep. I’ll stop talking.”

Goro smiles—mostly to himself—and forgets everything else.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got a bit wordy/hectic but it's purposeful, I promise... sometimes goro's POV is a nightmare. also, I keep helplessly putting persona 2 references in all my writing. nevertheless, thank you for reading as always!


	8. i would build a house there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is... all over the place! woooow!

It’s the day of the party, and it is once again supposed to rain.

Supposed to downpour, actually. Goro isn’t sure where all this ridiculous rain is coming from, and while it wasn’t very annoying at first, it’s now beginning to get a little excessive. Whenever he gets home he has started to make a habit of giving his poor little umbrella a sympathetic glance before putting it away. 

He had stayed at Akira’s apartment overnight again, because now that he’s been here a couple of times, he has realized that it is far nicer and more inviting than his own apartment. And it’s not just because Akira’s here—Goro’s own apartment is simply duller, emptier, and more miserable no matter who is there with him. He doesn’t think painting the walls neon yellow would even do anything to brighten it up.

It’s just miserable.

But that’s a problem to think of another time.

It’s mid morning, and the sun is shining through the window onto his and Akira’s face. The sun won’t be there for long, Goro knows, so he tries his hardest to not be irritated by the fact that it is so horrifically bright. 

At the very least, it’s waking him up. They need to get up early today, because Akira apparently promised Yusuke he’d buy food or balloons or something—he can’t remember which one—and hadn’t gotten around to doing it last night. He spent the entire night doing laundry, and Goro spent the entire night doing it with him, staring at the stupid machines tumble around while they sat on little uncomfortable stools and played a game of chess on their phones. Goro won the game, which meant that Akira had to pay for the laundry. 

Not that Goro minded doing that. Wasting time is a luxury, and a rather foreign one to him at that.

“Akira,” Goro whispers, uselessly, because he knows that Akira is already awake. “We should get up soon.”

No movement. This happens quite frequently, so he’s not going to give up very easily. 

“A-ki- _ ra _ ,” Goro tries again, jostling his shoulder this time. “Come on, get up, sit up, open your eyes.”

Akira takes his pillow and puts it over his head in a very huffy fashion. “We have all day to do the stuff Yusuke told me to do,” he says, voice all muffled by the pillow. “I want to sleep more.”

“Yes, but it’s supposed to rain eventually. We should take advantage of the sun—”

“What has the sun ever done for me?”

Goro’s eyebrows knit themselves together. Never before has he heard such a strange statement as that one. “This is no time to be angry at the sun. Come on! You’re already awake as it is!”

Still nothing.  

There’s probably a better way to do this. Goro sits up, flattens his hair and looks around the room for a few moments before his eyes land on a few extra pillows sitting in the corner of the room. Truthfully, he still isn’t sure why they’re there, or what they could possibly be used for—the pillows are ugly, not soft, and do not match any of the furniture in the entire apartment. They’re like the fabric equivalent to the Voynich Manuscript.

With a sigh, Goro clambers out of all the blankets and gets up. He stands by the end of the bed and yanks the blankets off with one swift pull, and they flutter in a sad pile into the floor. 

This gets Akira’s attention, but he still doesn’t sit up. “Hey, what—” 

Before he can say anything else, Goro starts tossing all the corner pillows on top of him, one at a time. There’s quite a few of them, thankfully, or else this would be a pretty useless tactic. If Akira knocks any of them to the floor, Goro simply picks them back up and tosses them back onto him.

It doesn’t take much struggling for Akira to give in. He sits up, still huffy, waving his hands all over the place. “Okay, okay! I’m awake now. The pillows have woken me up. I’m standing, see?”

And, as he said, he does stand. 

“Is someone sleepy?” Goro asks, obviously teasing, but Akira simply gives him an unamused look in response. Perhaps at another time this would have prompted Goro to return a look of his own, but instead, he simply smiles and gives Akira a pat on the head. 

“I don’t understand how you can be such a morning person,” Akira says after he’s been patted. “This is so painful.”

Goro can’t help but disagree at being called a morning person. He doesn’t really see himself as a morning person, or an afternoon, evening, night person—he’s always just done whatever had to been done whenever the time of day was appropriate. He’s not a big fan of any times of day. 

A few years back, each part of the day typically had its own set function. The mornings were for school or television. The afternoons were also for school or television. The evenings were for homework, detective work, et cetera, and the nights were for doing whatever Shido asked him to do. Most of the time, all of these tasks were pretty miserable and draining. 

After considering this, Goro feels the need to at least vaguely explain it to Akira, for posterity’s sake. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that I’m a morning person. It’s just the schedule I’ve been formulated into and it has simply stuck with me.” 

“Huh, well.” Akira fishes through his wardrobe before continuing, and leans down to pick up a towel. “Maybe one day I’ll be good at waking up.”

Goro laughs. “Yes, perhaps one day.”

* * *

It took them a while to finally leave the apartment. 

Goro is wearing a t-shirt with some American beach logo on it; Akira explained that Ann’s parents had given it to him after they went on a trip. He thinks that’s perhaps a bit strange, for parents to be giving gifts to young people that are not their own children, but then again, Goro doesn’t know whether or not he can be someone to judge that.

The important part is that the t-shirt is just slightly too big on him, and so he’s had to tie the side of it with a rubber band, and it’s making him feel extremely self conscious.

“You look fine,” Akira says to him while they’re in the grocery store. They’re currently looking at tons of boxes of cookies, and the air conditioner happens to be right above them and is turning Goro’s limbs to ice. 

“I know that I’m physically attractive, it’s just the  _ clothes _ ,” Goro grits, examining the price on something.

Akira laughs a little too loud. Some of the customers turn their heads and look at the two of them. Goro doesn’t know what he said that was so funny. “The clothes look  _ fine.  _ You picked the shirt out yourself, so why are you complaining?”

“Because I wasn’t aware of how bothered I’d be by the size until now,” he explains, monotonous.

“Well, grumpy, you won’t be wearing it all day. Help me choose something here so we can go back home. You can change into something else then.”

Goro huffs but helps Akira pick something nonetheless. He knows he’s being overdramatic; hardly anyone is going to pay attention to him nor his shirt. 

Though he  _ does  _ find it mildly interesting that Akira has started referring to his apartment as  _ home.  _ As Goro knows, not every house is a home, nor is every apartment a home, et cetera et cetera, and the fact that Akira has started saying  _ home  _ is—he doesn’t know what to do with the implications of that. 

And, to add to it, Akira always seems to say it in a way that implies it’s Goro’s  _ home  _ too. He’s not sure if that’s accidental or on purpose at this point and does not have the gall to ask just quite yet. 

“How about these?” Akira asks, holding out a container with some cat shaped cookies. They’re all colored in a strange way. 

“Doesn’t this seem a bit obnoxious? Would Yusuke mind?”

They both stare at the cookies, contemplating. Goro thinks about how he called Yusuke by his given name and frowns. 

“I think it’ll be fine,” Akira says with a shrug. “And if it isn’t… I’ll just buy new ones, or something.”

“You’re willing to do that?”

“Guess so.” A sigh. “Should we get more than one? I feel like this is a shitty contribution.”

“Perhaps we should look at things other than cookies,” Goro suggests, looking up and down the aisle to see what other options they have. 

“Like what?”

“Hmmm.” He’s truthfully not too sure what types of things are appropriate for events like this. “Hmmm.” 

Additionally, he isn’t sure what to expect from this  _ party.  _ It could be anything at all, really. Goro could walk in and Yusuke might have painted the entirety of Leblanc bright orange and have all the decorations be oranges and he would only be slightly surprised.

It’s the first thing Goro apparently thinks up in his head, though, and for some reason, it has him quietly laughing. Akira looks at him and raises an eyebrow and in a moment Goro has composed himself once again. 

“Did you… see something funny?” Akira asks, appearing both concerned and amused. 

“No, no, nothing funny. I was just remembering something.” It’s not important enough to share, so Goro segues with it. “What about fruit?”

“What do you mean, ‘what about fruit?’”

“Would that be something that we could buy?”

“Uh.” Akira scratches his cheek. “Yeah, I think that’d probably be fine. Do you have something in mind?”

“Oranges,” Goro says immediately, smiling. 

And they buy the oranges and cookies. 

They also buy two popsicles, because it’s hot and because Goro caught Akira wistfully staring at them through the freezer door for a good few seconds. Akira bought the food because he said Yusuke had specifically asked him to do the buying, and Goro couldn’t refute that, so he bought the popsicles instead. 

They had bought the food at the grocery store just around the corner from Leblanc. It doesn’t take them long to head to the cafe and dump all of the supplies onto one of the tables. Sojiro, being the genial man he is, closed early, and so they didn’t have to worry about making a mess. “Yusuke said to leave the stuff here and he’ll do… whatever it is he’s gonna do with it in a little while. Apparently he doesn’t want anybody to see how he’s gonna set everything up,” Akira explains, ripping open the wrapping around his popsicle. 

“I suppose that’s fair,” Goro says, unwrapping his own as well, albeit in a far more mild way than Akira had. “Do you have any more chores to do, then?”

“Oh, they’re not  _ chores… _ ”

“Would you prefer if I called them errands?” Goro asks.

“No, because that word makes me feel like a middle-aged man.” Akira sighs and stares at his popsicle. “I have no idea what flavor this is supposed to be.”

Goro takes a seat on top of one of the booth tables and gestures for Akira to hand over his popsicle. “Isn’t it supposed to be melon?” he asks, staring at it.

“That’s what the package said, but it kind of tastes like… bananas, I guess? I can’t really tell. Maybe my taste buds are fading.”

Because there’s only one thing he can do to confirm Akira’s statement, Goro tastes the popsicle. He makes a face, wrinkling up his nose and handing it back over. “It does taste like bananas,” he says grimly. “Bananas… left out for a few days too long.”

“Well, I guess it’s fine. I’m gonna eat it anyway.” Akira huffs. “It could be worse. Could be like the takoyaki—”

“Shush,” Goro interrupts, waving his hand around. “I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

“Don’t you? I can refresh your—”

More hand waving. “Shush, shush!” Goro knows how fond Akira is of bringing up that moment, but he isn’t upset by it or anything. In fact, he himself thinks it’s a funny thing that happened, he just has no idea how to react to jokes about it besides in this vaguely embarrassed way. “I remember now! No memory refreshing is needed.”

Akira laughs some more. He’s been doing a lot of that today. “Glad to hear,” he says, obviously pleased with himself.

It’s nice, Goro thinks truthfully. It’s nice to be able to laugh at himself and have others laugh at him too in a way that doesn’t feel like there’s shame hidden behind it. It’s nice, and new, and freeing, and something he hasn’t ever really had the chance to experience before now.

Goro clears his throat. He’s trying to get rid of his habit of overanalyzing absolutely everything. “Anyway, that aside…”  he begins, “I think we should head back now and change. I’d also really like to shower.”

Akira nods, staring sadly at his popsicle. “Let’s get going, then, before Yusuke gets here and kicks us out.”

“Is he on his way?” Goro asks, sliding off of the table and down to the ground. Akira takes his hand the moment he’s standing and for a moment, Goro thinks that something is wrong, but one look at his face tells him that there isn’t anything wrong at all.

Goro has always had the problem of assuming that the worst possible scenarios are the only possible scenarios. He knows, though, that he doesn’t have to anticipate those every time he sees Akira’s face, every time he hears him laugh and every time he sees his crooked tooth when he smiles. Goro knows that for now, it’s better to live in the present, despite how self-help-advice-book it sounds.

“Yeah, he’ll be here soon,” Akira says. “So I guess we should go.”

“Guess so,” Goro replies, and they head back out, hand in hand, mumbling about the popsicles.

* * *

This time around, Goro goes back to his actual apartment, because that’s where all of his nicer clothes are. 

Besides that, he’s got to do a little bit of tidying up. He hasn’t spent much time in his apartment; at least, he hasn’t been spending very much time  _ consciously _ in his apartment. He’s hardly there during the day and at night time, if he sleeps here, that’s all that he does. Sometimes he showers. Sometimes he rearranges things under the illusion of cleaning to make himself feel better.

He hates his apartment. He’s started hating it now more than he has ever before.

Nevertheless, he doesn’t have any choice but to stop by so that he can pick up some clothes and organize a few things that have been in disarray for just a bit too long, namely the dishes and cups strewn all over the place.

He wastes no time, though, and is out the door in a mere twenty minutes. He hasn’t put his clothes on yet, either—he plans on doing that back at Akira’s apartment. Instead he simply shoved them all into a bag.

The train ride is long, long, long and quiet, as it usually is. 

When Goro rides the train, those are the times when he truly has to wonder whether or not he’s put himself on the right path. He has noticed that he always thinks about things along these lines when he rides on the train. It’s probably because traveling places with his bike was so distracting—it left little room for thinking—while taking the train provides no distraction. For him personally, at least.

Goro remembers quite clearly how much he imagined jumping in front of the train during the time he worked under Shido. He remembers. He could never forget, because it was a feeling all over his body in addition to a feeling in his brain. It became physical, almost, and that was the worrisome part at the time. It was as though the discomfort would go away if only he jumped. If only he got hit. If only he— 

If only.

But he never jumped, and Goro isn’t sure what to make of that. On one hand, he’s relatively happy where he is right now. He’s never felt this good his whole life, and it’s refreshing and Goro doesn’t think he would trade it for anything else. But on the other hand—

That doubtful piece of himself is still gnawing at his skull.

He can’t make it go away.

He exhales when the train comes to a stop, not realizing that he had been holding his breath, and exits onto the platform. It takes him less than a minute to mentally settle himself and then is on his way back to Akira’s apartment, clothes in his bag and frown slowly dissolving from his face. The train ride is over. He is returning to reality. He is returning

Goro takes the stairwell up to the apartment, left foot, right foot, left, right, until he’s made it in one piece and sighs thankfully.

He steps into the apartment, gives an innocuous glance to an animal statue that’s keeping the door open, and heads down the hall.

The door to Akira’s room is open, as it usually is—he prefers keeping it open, he likes having a vantage point or something, as had been explained—and Akira is sitting on his bed, staring at his phone. A shirt is tossed on top of his head.

For the shortest, briefest of moments, something seems off. Something seems as though it just isn’t right.

Something...

Goro pushes the thought aside, telling himself that he’s overthinking and that nothing is out of the ordinary. “I’m back,” he says, a bit slowly.

Akira picks the shirt off from on top of his head and throws it to the floor. “Oh, hey.” He stands. “Got your clothes? Did you…  not shower?”

“Yes, I’ve got them.” Goro shakes his bag full of stuff and then sets it down on the bed. “And  _ no _ , I didn’t, because I figured I’d just do it here. Unless you’d prefer—”

“No, you’re fine, don’t worry. I was just wondering was all.” 

“Why is the front door open?”

“Huh? Oh, that’s not because of me or anything. I think Ann is taking out trash or something. Doing laundry? I’m not sure. She left it open for  _ some _ reason.”   
“Well, all right, then. Do you mind if I leave this here?” Goro asks, gesturing at his bag of items.

“You can put it wherever you want, honestly. My room is like… an object graveyard.”

“An… object graveyard?”

“Yeah, there’s just stuff everywhere.” Akira spreads his arms out in a swimming motion.

“It’s kind of charming, though,” Goro says, and he’s being truthful about it. Akira’s messiness was, admittedly, a bit of an annoying thing at first, but now it’s become inconceivably delightful. “The object graveyard aside, would you like to shower now?”

“I was going to let you go first,” Akira mumbles. It seems that he has returned to looking at his phone again.

Once more, Goro cannot shake the feeling that something is off. He hates that he can’t put his finger on it, because until he can, it’s going to be nothing more than this baseless paranoia.

“I—well, I thought… otherwise.”

Akira tosses his phone to the end of his bed and laughs out his nose. “Does the detective need help washing his hair?”

Goro lets out a laugh. “Ew,” he says. “That was awful phrasing.”

“Oh, well, you know.” Akira stands up, dusts off something invisible from his pants, and smiles. “I like making things purposefully inelegant.”

* * *

That was definitely the truth.

After sitting around for a good while, post-shower and playing half of a game of chess on their phones, Goro and Akira finally decide to get ready. Time has passed at an alarming rate today—it’s already nearing the evening. Goro doesn’t exactly know where time goes when he’s with Akira, but wherever goes, it must be stockpiling.

That aside, the two of them  _ are  _ getting ready for this party, and the clothes that Akira has picked out for himself truly encapsulate  _ purposeful inelegance _ . 

He’s got on perhaps the most frilly and ridiculous looking white blouse-type-of-thing Goro has ever seen. It is  _ so _ frilly that it has ended up making him look a bit like a pirate, especially because he’s also wearing horrifically old black pants. It is an absolute wonder where he could have possibly purchased both of these, and for what purpose, but the fact of the matter is that they were hanging up in his wardrobe just like any other clothes would be.

Goro can’t help himself. He has to ask. “Why do you own these?”

Akira is either feigning obliviousness or being genuine about it, because he looks around his room and then down at his clothes. “What, the stuff that I’m wearing?”

“Yes,  _ the stuff that you’re wearing. _ ”

“Oh, well, you know.” Vague hand gestures. “Me and Ann just kind of… bought them one day. They were ninety percent off, so I figured that I might as well.”

Goro stares at him, mouth open slightly, in awe.  _ I might as well _ is the excuse he gave as to why he purchased pirate clothing.

“I know that it looks stupid! That’s why I got them.”   
“Is that so?” Goro muses, mostly to himself. “Am I supposed to wear something tacky too, then? Is that what this party is going to be?”

“I’m just wearing this because the party counts as an excuse for me to finally show off these stupid clothes. I have a regular t-shirt on underneath this, anyway.”

“Aren’t you going to get… sweaty? With all these layers?”

“I mean, maybe.” Akira looks at himself again. “Probably. But it’s fine. I can take the top shirt off whenever I want.”

“I, um, suppose you can.”

“Do you not want me to wear it at all? Are you going to be too embarrassed to stand next to me on the train if I wear this?” Akira smirks.

Goro pauses mid-reach for his shirt, hand frozen inside his bag. “I never said that,” he replies, indirect as ever.

“I’m touched,” Akira says with a smile, placing a hand over his heart dramatically.

Goro holds in his laugh as he puts on his shirt. It’s a very plain and boring white button-up shirt with a slightly wrinkled collar that he doesn’t have the time to throw a fit about. He’s also wearing black pants to complete the ensemble. Truthfully, it’s more or less the same as every other outfit he wears, the only difference is that this shirt and these pants are slightly more expensive.

He drops his hands to his sides and looks into the mirror, then sighs.

“Hey, you look like me, but if my clothes were normal,” Akira says, putting his arm around Goro’s shoulder and pushing up his glasses with his free hand. 

“Like a watered-down Akira?” Goro mumbles, hardly paying attention to what he’s saying.

Honestly, though, looking in the mirror together like this—they could pull off being each other’s sidekicks, depending on whatever the story is. Something about that is kind of nice, Goro thinks.

“Should we go?” Akira asks, removing his arm and bending down to pick up stray clothes that have been littered around. He tosses them back onto his bed and looks Goro in the eye through the mirror.

“I suppose we should, yes,” he says, answer slower than he had meant it to be. “Do you have an umbrella?”

“Yeah, Ann left it by the front door.” Akira waves his hand to indicate that Goro can make his way out of the bedroom, which he does, right after he slips his wallet into his pocket. This pair of pants in particular has very thin pockets and he had to remove a large quantity of coins from the wallet in order for it to not look so stupid and bulky. He hopes he won’t forget to put them back in later tonight. 

Goro picks up the umbrella that Ann had left for them by the door—it’s an extremely bright green color; he cannot imagine that it belongs to her—and looks at Akira as he undoes the velcro. “Do you know if we’re the last ones to… Ah.” 

He’s trailed off accidentally. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards, and Akira puts on an expression of concern.

“Do I know if we’re the last to what?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“To, um, leave. For the party. I apologize, you just look very silly with that shirt on, and I had forgotten already.” Goro turns to open the door while he says this, mostly because he’s trying to hide his smile.

Akira, of course, likely notices it, but all he does is laugh and shove Goro out into the rain before he has the chance to open up the umbrella.

* * *

They are, shockingly, the last to arrive at Leblanc. Akira shuts the door as indiscreetly as he can, not wanting to draw attention to their lateness, and Goro faces the Phantom Thieves.

A good number of them haven’t even noticed their arrival, because they’re all busy doing… other things with one another. Goro wasn’t sure what to expect of this “party,” but he supposes that what he’s looking at right now isn’t anything particularly shocking.

Everyone is dressed a little nicer than usual—except Akira, of course, he’s wearing his pirate costume or whatever it’s supposed to be—and most of them are seated at one of the booths, looking at something in the center of the table. Futaba and Yusuke are the only ones not situated with everyone else, Futaba because she’s getting herself a drink, and Yusuke because— 

“I stood here and waited for you,” he says, almost haughtily not but quite, as he stares at Goro and Akira dead in the eyes. “I was worried you wouldn’t come.”   
Akira grimaces. “I would have said something if we couldn’t come. We just ended up taking our ti—” 

“What  _ are _ you wearing?” comes a sudden voice from behind. Yusuke moves slightly and Futaba comes into view with her brows furrowed, eyeing Akira’s clothes very dutifully. That seems to be her thing.

“Do you like it?” Akira asks, flashing a smile. 

“You look like cake frosting.”

“I personally thought he looked like a pirate,” Goro says. “But now that you’ve said it, cake frosting is appropriate as well.”

“Yeah, and you look like Akira, but like… steam rolled. Kind of.” Futaba purses her lips. Somewhere during their short conversation, Yusuke apparently lost interest and walked away to join everyone else at the booth. 

Futaba crosses her arms. “So… are you going to break the news today like you said you would?”

Akira makes a face. “What news?”

“You know, the…” Futaba waves her hands wildly in the direction of Goro and Akira, “...dating thing you have going on. It’d be a pretty opportune time to do that.”

Goro hits himself over the head with a metaphorical brick. He had forgotten about that. In all honesty, he had forgotten not only about that, but also the fact that he wanted to take this party as a moment to talk to all of the Thieves openly about everything that had happened. Maybe he had gotten so distracted by that chess game earlier, or by Akira’s clothes, or maybe he’s trying to make excuses and is in actuality just avoiding the subject, but— 

—the point is, he had forgotten. Unfortunately.

He has to pretend like he hasn’t, though. “Oh, right. I was going to… say something about it later on. I was hoping to address a few things, but wasn’t sure whether or not this would be a good time to do that.”

Futaba pats him on the shoulder, and it’s a little awkward because she’s so short. “Well, good luck with that.” She looks at Akira. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

Akira is staring at the booth where everyone else is seated, and—Futaba is right. He does look pale.

Something is definitely, definitely off. 

Goro puts his hand on Akira’s back and repeats Futaba’s question, because he hadn’t answered it the first time around.  

Akira blinks a few times. “Oh, uh… I’m okay, don’t worry. Just hungry, I guess.” Pause. He takes hold of Goro’s hand. “Let’s sit down with everyone else, yeah?”

“All right,” Goro says quietly, giving what he hopes is a smile that doesn’t convey the worry he is feeling.

He lets Akira lead him to the booth and, after what is potentially the most overwhelming flurry of greetings, the two of them slide into the seat. Goro is almost comically squashed next to Haru, and he is trying his very best to give her as much space as he possibly can because he still isn’t sure what she thinks about him.

Goro looks at the center of the table to discover a big posterboard with various drawings of sorts spread out on it. At the moment, Ryuji is drawing a very misshapen skull in the bottom left corner.

“What’s this for?” Goro asks nobody in particular, but he supposes that technically the question was directed towards either Akira or Haru, because those are the people sitting next to him, and therefore the only people likely able to hear him over all the talking.

“Yusuke told us to draw our codenames,” Haru says, voice calm and smooth to an almost startling degree. “As some sort of project, I suppose.”

“Ah.” Goro nods, but doesn’t look at her when he does. It seems a little awkward, ending the conversation right there, and so he fishes around his head for something to continue talking about. “Did he mean that in a literal sense?”

Next to him, Goro feels Akira clutching at his arm underneath the table, in a manner that almost seems desperate. He tries very hard not to frown.

“What do you mean?” Haru asks.

“Um—did he mean draw them literally?” 

“Oh, well, I suppose he didn’t mean it in one particular way or another. Ryuji’s was Skull, as you know, so it makes sense for him to draw a skull, but mine was Noir, so… I just drew a cinema camera and colored it in.”

Goro admits in his head that that is a pretty creative idea. He looks down at the poster again and spots Haru’s camera near the center of the page, right next to a queen chess piece, and smiles. He’s not sure why.

Ryuji continues on drawing his skull and Ann continues to make fun of how bad he is at drawing; amidst this chaos, Goro turns his head to face Akira and gives him what is hopefully a serious look. “Are you okay?” he asks, pointing at their interlocked arms with his eyes.

The answer Akira gives is much too immediate. “I’m okay,” he says. “Like I said, I think I’m just hungry.”

“Do you w—”

“Sorry, Akechi-kun, do you mind getting up for a second?” Haru interrupts with a shoulder tap. “Makoto wants to get something to eat.”

Goro stretches his neck. He had almost failed to notice Makoto sitting there, stuck between the wall and Haru, and he quickly nods, stumbling out of the booth along with Akira, who continues to grip Goro’s arm as if his life depends on it.

Outside, a clap of thunder echoes through the sky.

Goro isn’t oblivious, clearly. He can tell when something is wrong; he can tell that something is bothering Akira—that something has been bothering him since he woke up today—and it has absolutely nothing to do with being hungry. 

Morgana is nowhere in sight, and Makoto is busy with other things. For now, he’s just going to have to keep his eye on— 

“Goro, I’m gonna go to the bathroom and then get something to eat,” Akira mumbles, releasing his grip on Goro’s arm in near slow motion. 

He has just barely a split second to decide the best way to respond to this: be forward and ask what’s really wrong, or play along with it and make sure to watch him for the rest of the evening. Goro decides on the second option for now. “All right,” he says slowly. “Could you get me something, too? Anything’s fine.”

There. Now Akira has—a task of sorts, to make sure he doesn’t disappear, like Morgana said he sometimes does. It really does seem like he’s about to do that.

“Sure, sure,” Akira replies, heading off to the bathroom.

Before Goro has a moment to himself to go over all of Akira’s behaviors, there is a hand on his shoulder. He flinches.

“Oh, sorry for startling you,” Haru says as Goro turns around to face her. “I was just wondering if you had some time to talk.”

For the first time, Goro looks very closely at Haru. 

She is wearing a very nice cream colored dress that puffs out a bit around her waist, and the end has a little lace pattern. Goro thinks that her hair might be a little longer than it used to be, but then again, it also might be shorter. He also can’t tell if she is wearing blush or if her cheeks are naturally the shade of pink that they are right now.

Haru is like a mystery to Goro.

Haru, whose father saw her as not much more than a means for profit, and whose father treated his company employees like garbage, and who was affiliated with Shido. Haru, who, for some strange reason, Goro has never been able to get a completely comprehensive reading on. It isn’t as though he thinks that her head is full of air; it’s the complete opposite. Haru is a kind of intelligent that is so rare that Goro doesn’t know how to act around her.

He has been quiet just a moment too long.

“Of course,” he replies, hoping to sound as natural as possible despite his nervousness.

Haru nods, smiles. It doesn’t look rehearsed or fake and Goro wonders how she’s doing that. “I suppose… we should try and find a quiet place to sit, don’t you think? Though I’m not sure how possible that is…” 

She glances over at Futaba, who is now standing on the table.

Goro laughs through his nose. “We can just sit at this corner seat, if that works for you?”

Haru seems to think this is fine because she takes a seat at the booth Goro gestured to without any fuss. She crosses her legs underneath the table and folds her hands together on top of her lap and gives a sweet smile.

Goro sits down across from her.

Silence.

He knows that his track record as to how he perceives the Phantom Thieves has never been a smooth one, but he expected her to be much more hostile towards him. Maybe she is and he simply cannot read her expression, but—nevertheless, their interaction is not going the way he thought it would.

He supposes, though, that Haru must be an expert in this area. Even moreso than himself.

“You first, please,” he says, gesturing with a hand.

“Oh, I was going to go first anyway, I was just gathering my thoughts.” Another smile.  _ That’s  _ more like what Goro hoped. 

He wants her to be blunt.

Goro nods. “My apologizes.” 

“Not a problem. Listen, Akechi-kun…” She sighs. “I’m not sure what other people might have told you, but I don’t hate you, okay?”

“Oh, um—all right.” 

“I mean, I certainly can’t say that I’m your biggest fan or anything… but I don’t hate you. I’m not going to forgive you, though.”

“That’s understandable.”

“When you first came into Leblanc—you know, when Akira broke the cup and everything—I was sure that I hated you. Or, I guess… I was sure that I was supposed to hate you. You’ve caused me and my friends a lot of agony.”

Goro says nothing.

“But… I could tell, from the way your eyes were, that you’ve caused yourself a lot of agony too. You don’t have to confirm or deny that, it’s just based off your appearance and how you were carrying yourself at the time.”

He continues to use short phrases. “I see.”

“You look a lot better now, by the way. Um, anyway—I both fault you and don’t fault you for killing my father. I understand that you were being manipulated, and in my heart I know that you really didn’t have many options, but at the same time…” She trails off, biting her lip.

Goro thinks he can finish this one for her. “It’s different because he’s blood related. Correct?”

Haru nods. “Yes, something along those lines. And I don’t doubt that my father was a terrible man, either. I can’t quite explain my feelings on the matter. But it seems like you understand what I’m trying to say.”

“Somewhat, yes.” Goro thinks about Shido. He’s not sure the relationship is exactly the same.

“Good, I’m glad. Um… haha.”

He raises an eyebrow. “‘Haha?’”

“I wasn’t expecting this to go so well… I thought I’d lose my temper. Either that, or I thought you’d lose your temper.”

“Oh, well.” Goro coughs into his fist, not sure what to make of that comment. “This is a good thing, right? Civility does tend to be key with these sorts of things.”

He’s trying not to sound bombastic.

Whether he is or isn’t, Haru doesn’t comment on it. “Yes! Definitely good.”

“Oh, and I don’t mean to change the subject—sort of, anyway—and I’m not sure how much this means to you at this point, but I’d like to apologize… for what I did. It’s true that I did it in order to keep myself alive, but I also did it for selfish reasons by proxy, I suppose. I was quite blinded by Shido,” Goro says, voice slow and cautious.

Haru thinks this statement over. “Truthfully, an apology doesn’t really mean much. My father has been dead for a few years now, and there isn’t any way to resurrect the dead—though, maybe you’re an exception to that.” 

“Rest assured, I don’t think that I had died.” Goro wants to say that  _ if I had, I wouldn’t have chosen to come back,  _ but that would be wildly inappropriate and counterproductive to this whole  _ self help  _ thing he’s trying to do. 

He blinks a few times.

Haru hums. “Well… regardless. I appreciate the attempt at an apology, but I don’t care too much. Sorry if that’s too blunt.”

“No, don’t apologize. It’s completely fine.”

“In that case, I’d also like to—”

“Hey, Akechi,” comes an interrupting voice a few feet away. Goro turns around in his seat to find Ryuji approaching him. “Did Akira tell you when he’d be back?”

Goro frowns. “Back from where?”

A very, very specific facial expression comes over Ryuji, and the moment it appears, Goro knows that something has gone wrong. 

“He told us he was gonna go out for a minute or two to get fresh air, but…” Ryuji looks towards the door. “It’s raining.”

“Didn’t he tell you he was just going to go to the bathroom and then get food?” Haru asks, leaning over the table a bit.

“Um, yes, he did say that.” Goro stands up. He pulls his phone out of his pocket. There are no new messages. No new calls. 

Goro wishes he had directly asked Akira what was wrong. 

“Um,” he repeats, “I’ll be right back.”

And then, in what is possibly the quickest motion ever, Goro heads for the door, grabs an umbrella and opens it up while he opens the door with his elbow, and dials Akira’s number.

He isn’t sure where to start looking, but he’s got to at least make some kind of move, so he heads left.

The phone keeps ringing, until it gets to the voicemail. 

Goro bites his lip and redials. He continues down the alleyway, looking in just about every corner he possibly can and stepping in a massive puddle in the process and ruining his socks and shoes and everything. Perhaps on another day he would get very angry about this, but for now, the  _ squish squish _ that sounds every time he takes a step is nothing at all.

Eventually he makes it to the station, and, after taking a peek around and seeing no Akira, heads back into the direction of Leblanc. His phone once again has taken him to Akira’s voicemail, and he calls his number a third time.

This time, he heads right, and realizes that there is much more area to potentially cover in this direction. As he continues walking and checking behind every conceivable trash can and outdoor plant in the vicinity—even though, really, Goro knows that doing this is a bit silly, considering Akira’s height—his phone still rings. 

It goes to voicemail once again.

“Fuck!” Goro grits. “Fucking stupid fucking rain making this so much fucking worse—”

The voicemail tone beeps. Goro stops walking and decides that, although it feels fruitless, he should leave a voicemail. “Akira,” he says, quickly, “I’m really worried. Where are you? If it’s something I said, or if it’s just the party—we can go home. Or, I mean, I’ll take you home, and—please just call me back. Please.”

He hangs up and does not dial again this time, but keeps on walking instead.

Even when he makes it to an area that is entirely houses, Goro has yet to find, hear, or see any signs of Akira. Instead, all he has is his umbrella, his wet, disgusting socks, and goosebumps all up his arms. 

It’s taking a lot of effort to not smash his phone on the ground.

Goro has done that before. It had been after a particularly agonizing phone call with Shido and he had been walking home through a very gross and dark alleyway. There was something about how the walls of the two buildings seemed to squeeze at him—painfully, almost—and before he knew what he was doing, Goro was yanking out his phone and stupidly, stupidly, stupidly smashing it on the pavement.

He didn’t do that ever again. It caused more trouble than what was worth.

Goro blinks the memory out of his eyes, then, and stares at the puddle he happens to be standing in and wonders what it would be like to be nothing more than bacteria. It must be easier than—this. The weight of living.

Suddenly, his phone rings. He takes it out of his pocket slowly, expecting it to be Ryuji or Ann, but the caller ID reads Akira’s name.

“Hello?” he says, quickly and breathlessly. “Akira? Are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” Pause. “I’m really sorry for worrying you, Goro, I just—”

“Don’t worry about it for now. Where are you?”

“Um, in the laundromat. I wandered around a little bit, but… the rain.”

Despite the situation not warranting it, Goro laughs at this. Yes, the rain. “Just—stay there. I’ll be right over.”  

He hurries out of the residential street and back to the cafe. Goro could slap himself for not checking the stupid laundromat.

It doesn’t take him long to get there, considering he’s half sprinting. He closes the umbrella, drops it by the vending machine and steps into the laundromat.

Sure enough, Akira is there, sitting on the stool and staring at one of the empty machines. He’s facing the other direction.

“Hey,” Goro says, testing the waters. He’s unsure how to proceed.

Akira turns slightly. Gives a wave. “Hey.”

The overhead grey clouds and general poor lighting in the laundromat make it hard to read Akira’s facial expression, but it’s definitely something akin to forlorn. As far as Goro can tell, though, it doesn’t seem as though he’s been crying, which could be either a good or bad sign. 

Nevertheless, he steps forward. “It’s raining,” Goro says.

Akira gives a light little laugh at this. “It’s definitely raining.”

“I truly wish that it weren’t.” Goro takes a few more steps forward and then sits himself down on the floor, back against one of the machines, and gives a deep sigh. “I apologize for already asking this—but are you all right?”

“Goro, I know that you’re trying to do this in the most careful way possible, but does running off during the middle of a party and sitting in this gross laundromat by myself seem like I’m feeling ‘all right?’”

Goro says nothing. In hindsight, he supposes that he did ask a bit of a stupid question. He can’t help but wince at the reply anyway.

Akira winces back, sort of. “Ugh, sorry,” he says, running his hands down his face. His glasses are nowhere to be seen. “Thank you for worrying. I’m sorry for suddenly disappearing like that, especially without any warning. It’s… I shouldn’t have done that.”

Goro smiles a little. “Don’t worry about apologies right now. I’m more concerned about how you’re actually feeling.”

“I’m… I don’t know.” He sighs, then reaches down behind himself and picks up his glasses. “I’m just tired.”

“I hate to ask this, but—was it something I said?”

“No, no, it wasn’t. I know I got all weird after you said you wanted to tell everyone we’re dating, but I was planning on doing that at some point anyway. It just…”

“It just?”

“Seeing everyone sitting together at the booth made me… stressed.”

“It made you stressed?”

“Something like that, I guess. It made me feel sad. And panicked. I don’t know why. I’m always worried that something bad is going to happen to me all the time, so seeing them sitting out in the open made it feel like…”

“...like something horrible might happen?” Goro supplies, noticing Akira struggling to get the words out.

“Yeah.” He sighs. “Yeah. Exactly like that. I’ve been having that feeling all day long. The worst part is that I know that nothing is going to happen, so the only thing I could do was… leave. That way, I’d stop thinking about it. I can’t remove everyone else from Leblanc, so I had to remove myself instead. You know what I mean?”

Goro knows what he means. He completely, completely knows.

“That makes sense,” he whispers.

“Yeah. Guess I’m just paranoid about everything now.”

They sit in silence. Goro watches Akira continue to stare at the empty laundry machine.

It doesn’t stop raining.

“We don’t have to go back inside, if you don’t want to,” Goro says quietly. “I can take you home.”

For a quiet moment, Akira only looks at him, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. 

“Did I say—um, are you sure that I didn’t say something wrong?” Goro manages, unsure how to handle this strange scrutiny. 

“No, you didn’t say anything wrong, sorry.” Akira heaves himself up to his feet and holds out his hand to help Goro up as well, who graciously accepts his offer. “As much as I don’t want to go back, I… probably should. Yusuke and Ryuji planned this whole thing, so it’s not really fair for me to just… run off.”

“That’s understandable.” Goro looks Akira up and down a few times. He still looks like the same Akira that he has always been. “Your hair is sticking up a bit.”

“Oh, I’m sure that I’m the picture of style right now,” Akira laughs, pressing down on his hair uselessly with his palm. Goro laughs as well, though he isn’t really sure what he’s laughing at; and then, against his usual habit of not engaging in things first, he wraps his arms around Akira in a warm embrace.

Akira holds Goro back. It continues to rain.

Their hug doesn’t last long, because Goro is quickly pulling back and staring at Akira with a half-grimace. “Your ridiculous pirate shirt is so damp and sweaty,” he says, pulling at said clothing article with his thumb and index finger. 

“Yeah, I know,” Akira replies with a sigh. “It’s kind of disgusting.”

“Why… don’t you take it off?” 

“I don’t know.” He peels it off in one swift motion—one sort of swift motion; it nearly gets stuck around his head—and drops it on top of one of the machines in a sad pile. 

They both stare at the shirt. 

“Are you just going to leave it here?” Goro asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“I don’t really want to bring it back into Leblanc, since it’s so…”

“Disgusting.”

“Right.”

Goro puts his hand on his chin and thinks. Every time he does that—the hand on chin thing—he can’t help but smile, because Ann and Futaba have taken to lightly making fun of him every time he does it. He’s not offended by it, though. If anything, it only makes him do it more; whether that’s a conscious or unconscious choice, though, Goro doesn’t know.

“Well,” he says, removing his hand and instead placing it on his hip, “just leave it here for now, and then after the party, you can pick it back up.”

Akira makes a face. “You don’t think someone’s going to steal it?”

“Will you be hurt if they do?”

The face continues. “No.”

“Then it’s not a problem, is it, pirate?” 

This gets a laugh. “Not a problem at all, detective.”

Goro smiles. He reaches out to Akira, then, and takes hold of his hand with a small, small smile on his face, and they head back to Leblanc.

* * *

It’s late.

It’s subjectively late, anyway. Goro isn’t sure whether or not he has a handle on what is considered “late at night” anymore, considering he has stayed up until ridiculous hours of the morning for most of his independent life, even when there was no need to. He either couldn’t sleep, had school work to do, had work to do, had Shido work to do, or had some other variation of work. That’s just how it was. 

It’s also why he is married to concealer.

Regardless of that, though, right now, Goro considers it to be late. It’s slightly past four in the morning; he and Akira came back with Ryuji and Ann and the four of them stayed up and had a very long video game tournament. Goro, who has played about one video game in his entire life, was naturally extremely competitive with the whole thing.

Ann ended up winning.

“I still did pretty good,” he says to Akira, who is laying next to him, watching some video on his phone. “For never having played before, I mean.”

Akira laughs. “That’s a lot of bravado for someone who came in last.”

“I put forth effort, though.” 

“Yeah, you definitely gave more effort than anyone else.” He looks away from his phone. “It’s your move, you know.”

“I don’t feel like thinking about chess anymore tonight,” Goro mumbles, waving his phone around. They are both referring to, of course, their unfinished chess game that they’ve been playing over text. “I’ll send it tomorrow.”

“That’s fine. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t think it was my turn or anything.”

“Trust me, I’d be bugging you instead.” As he says this, Goro drops his phone to the floor with a quiet sigh. It hits the ground with a resounding  _ thump _ .

Once he and Akira returned to Leblanc after the little laundromat incident, the two of them explained to the group what had happened—in a vague manner, granted—and then continued on to reveal the fact that they are dating one another. Nobody was very surprised.

Afterwards, Goro ate a lot of food and drew a terribly shaped crow on the piece of paper everyone was surrounding earlier in the evening. It was nice. He decided to leave his Discussion-of-Events-that-Happened-in-November for another time, because as he was drawing his lumpy crow, Goro realized that the party was not the kind of atmosphere for such a serious conversation. One day he’ll apologize—or perhaps address is the better word—for what happened, but at a better time. A better place, too.

“Thanks again for earlier today,” Akira says into the silence. He’s turned his phone off; Goro isn’t sure when that happened.

“You don’t have to keep saying that. I know that you would have done the same.”

“I know, but still. It wasn’t like me to act like that.”

Goro makes a fake huffy sound for effect. “Really, Akira, don’t keep worrying about it. It’s all fine.” 

“Okay, okay. Not talking about it anymore. There is something else that I, uh, wanted to ask you, though. It’s kind of—”

“The way you’re phrasing this is worrying,” Goro interrupts. “Just tell me without the preface.”

“Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not going to freak out.”   
“You say that now, but just so you know, I’ve been avoiding asking this for like, a week.”

“Because you’re concerned I’ll ‘freak out?’”

A nod. “Yeah.”

Goro sits up in bed and turns to face Akira. Perhaps stern eye contact will make this more convincing. “Try me anyway.”

“Uh.” Pause. “How would you feel about moving in with me? Here, I mean. With Ryuji and Ann, too.”

Perhaps Goro misunderstood exactly what Akira meant by  _ freak out _ .

He knows that Akira has just said some words, but it’s taking a moment for them to run through his brain. Some blood vessels are blocking the absorption of information. Or something. 

“Sorry if it’s too early to say that, I just—”

“Where did this come from?” Goro asks, not wanting to hear the rest of whatever it is Akira was going to say. 

“Uh. Places. It’s just something I’ve been thinking about for a while. You seem… really miserable in your apartment.”

A very, very distant part of Goro wants to say  _ is this out of pity? _ But he does not say that, because he knows that Akira is not saying this out of pity. He knows that Akira means well and cares a lot and et cetera et cetera. This is just Goro being Goro. 

“You okay?” Akira asks, waving a hand close to Goro’s face.

“Oh, yes, I’m all right,” he says, half-true, half-false. He’s not sure what emotions are the right ones to have. “Sorry. You caught me off-guard with that question was all.”

“You still gonna be able to sleep?” The way Akira says this is in a more or less joking manner, but Goro wonders if he’s trying to ask it seriously. 

Instead of giving a response, all he does is laugh quietly.

Akira laughs as well in very much the same fashion. “Just think about it a little bit.”

“I will, I promise,” Goro replies. He pauses after saying this and then flops back down on the bed with a sigh. 

He scrunches up his face.

There is a problem that Goro seems to keep coming into contact with. Well—technically, he supposes that he keeps coming into contact with multiple types of problems, but that’s neither here nor there. The  _ particular _ problem that he keeps having to face now, however, is the fact that he still does not know how to accept kindness. 

Rather, he does not know how to accept care. 

Akira asked Goro to live with him because he cares about him. He asked him because he cares about him, and because he doesn’t want him to continue living in his miserable dinky apartment. Goro can work out that much in his head. What he cannot work out, though, is how he should feel about Akira’s proposal. What is he allowed to feel? Can he even accept something like this?

He has no idea.

He stares at the ceiling. Akira has decorated it with little glow-in-the-dark star-shaped stickers. 

Goro remembers a time, once, when he was a kid, when his foster family went to a festival and left him at home. They came back several hours later with prizes in their arms, smelling like good festival food, with smiles plastered all over their faces. And Goro remembers—he so viscerally remembers—how badly he wished that they had taken him with them to the festival. At this young age, though, Goro had long learned to never ask for anything, because he rarely received. All he could do was  _ hope _ . All he could do was  _ want _ . All he could do was  _ wait _ .

Goro doesn’t want to do that anymore. Here he is, being presented with something good, presenting with something he could only imagine receiving, and yet— 

—and yet?

_ We could end up hating each other,  _ he thinks.  _ It could go wrong. It’s too early. You shouldn’t be given the option to decide. And yet. And yet. And yet. And yet. And yet. And yet. _

Goro takes a deep breath. He is being given the opportunity to go to the festival, and he wants it, but some part of him is still saying  _ no, no. You can’t have things. _

Maybe—just maybe—he’s sick of not taking goodness that is placed down right in front of his face.

“Akira?” he whispers, turning his head to the side. 

There are some shuffling noises. “Huh?”

“Oh, I hadn’t realized you were asleep,” Goro says, voice still quiet. Apparently he had been thinking for a longer time than he thought.

“Wasn’t asleep yet.” Akira’s voice is muffled by a blanket. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I was just… um.”

“You can say it.”

Goro takes another deep breath. He closes his eyes. The words are right there on the tip of his tongue; he’s so close to grabbing it, so close to being able to hold it in his hands— 

He can’t keep avoiding benevolence for the rest of his life, or else it will make him go completely insane. Plus, he’s come so far. He’s not dead, which, considering his previous circumstances, is certainly something.

What is holding him back?

“Perhaps it isn’t very much like me to make a decision so quickly,” he prefaces, “but I’m going to say yes to your proposal.”

“Yes to my prop—oh!” Akira sits up a little. “Wait, really? Are you sure? I didn’t mean to put pressure on you or anything—”

“No, I’m made up my mind. If I don’t decide now, I know that I’ll end up saying no, and then end up being mopey.”

“It doesn’t have to be immediate, if you’d prefer waiting.”

Goro smiles, mostly to himself. It’s dark in the room; Akira wouldn’t be able to see it anyway. “Akira,” he says, voice soft in an unfamiliar way, “I promise you aren’t pressuring me.”

There is silence in the first few following seconds. And then: “Okay… okay. I just wanted to make sure.”

Akira kisses Goro’s cheek, tender and calm and timed perfectly, and then pulls him closer to his body. Goro doesn’t know how he can possibly tell Akira how much he means to him, but one day, hopefully he’ll be able to. For now, though… perhaps it’s best to save any more conversation for after they’ve slept. He can already hear Akira snoring. Who knows if he was telling the truth when he said he wasn’t asleep yet.

Goro looks at the star stickers on Akira’s ceiling and makes his very own constellation out of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) the next update probably won't be for... a while. I'm doing a million other projects at once rn + college stuff, and there's some elements of the last chapter I'm STILL indecisive about, so... yeah. apologies for that! but it will be released, promise.  
> 2) thank you for 5k hits!  
> and finally,
> 
> if you like my works, please feel free to check out my [twitter,](https://twitter.com/bloomedvillain) where I talk about p5 and so on. 
> 
> thank you!


	9. an epilogue (or: reregenesis)

_One of the good things about not owning a lot of furniture,_ Goro had thought while Ryuji was bashing his old television in with a bat, _is that moving is less of a hassle._

There were only a select few items that Goro wanted to really hold onto: exactly four books from his bookshelf, a snowglobe Futaba had given him, and a stuffed bear that Akira had given him in a sweeping romantic gesture the other week. That was it.

Of course, he also held onto more practical things, including his futon as well as all of the silverware and cups and plates and so forth that he owned. He also kept his clothes, obviously, and his toothbrush and laundry detergent and similar items. They packed these things into some cardboard boxes that Sojiro previously used for the cafe—the sides read _APPLES!_ in huge, bubbly font—and taped the flaps shut with flimsy postage tape because they didn’t have anything else on hand.

As they were leaving, Ann had asked, _do you want, um, one last moment with your apartment?_  and Goro had replied, _no,_ because he didn’t want to think about how horrendously miserable he had been while living in that place. On the way out, though, Goro turned around one last time and frowned at how empty the walls and floors looked. He frowned at the apartment in general. 

And then he shut the door.

They let Ryuji smash the television in the back lot next to the dumpster because he had been _begging_ to do so, and because no plans were made to actually keep the television. There wasn’t space for it, anyway. 

That was all good fun; he had never seen anyone smash a television before. Ryuji let Goro have a few swings, too. Catharsis, kind of!

By the time they were done with all of this, the sun was already starting to lower itself to the west. Akira texted in their groupchat (which Goro gets to be a part of now! He can’t believe it) that he was going to bring home dinner once he finished cleaning up at Leblanc, which was very nice and thoughtful.

And they’re eating said dinner right now. Or, well—Goro and Akira are eating the dinner. Ann and Ryuji finished quickly and then retreated into their respective rooms. _Work tomorrow,_ Ryuji had explained. 

Right.

Goro picks at the last few pieces of food in his bento. Akira is sitting next to him, resting his head in his hand and staring at Goro like he’s a gift given from heaven. Sometimes he does this; he gets all sappy and warm-eyed and impressively gentle. Goro is getting better at handling his own emotions when this happens, fortunately, because at first it made him feel very anxious.

It was over a month and a half ago that Akira had asked Goro to move in, and over a month and a half ago that Goro had agreed to do so. Since then, everyone in the apartment sans Goro himself have started up with college classes. It does make him feel just a little bit left out—or perhaps stupid might be a more appropriate word—but he’s trying to not think about it too hard. He’ll get to college, eventually. Hopefully.

It will be fine.

Akira lays a kind hand on Goro’s shoulder. “You look like you’re thinking really hard,” he says, giving a little smile. “Want to go for a walk?”

Goro looks to his food, then at Akira, then his food, and then back to Akira and nods and sighs. “That would be nice.”

They stand together and head for the door, leaving the bento abandoned on the table. Goro tells himself he’ll finish it when he gets back, because he feels bad being wasteful, and there isn’t much left anyway. 

“Anywhere specific you want to go?” Akira asks, shutting the door behind them. 

“Hm.” Goro thinks for about half a second. “No, wherever you want to go is fine.”

Akira says something that’s probably just the word _okay,_ but Goro can’t hear it because they’re walking down the staircase and their footsteps are making a lot of echoing noises. When they reach the ground floor, Akira heads to the sidewalk and then _up_ the sloping street. Goro doesn’t think he’s ever been this way, shockingly. It goes in the opposite direction of the train station.

Akira shoves his hands into his pockets. “Um, so… you doing okay?”

“I’m all right,” Goro says, uncharacteristically staring at the ground while they walk. “I think that I’m glad to be out of my apartment.”

“You _think_ that you’re glad? Are you having doubts?”

“No, no.” Goro looks over to Akira. “I phrased that wrong. I’m definitely glad to be out of there. Sorry that I made you wait so long before I moved out all of my things, though. The lease—”

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” Akira interrupts. “Seriously, don’t worry.”

Goro laughs. “I’ll try very hard not to.”

They walk in silence for a short while, accompanied by nothing but the sounds of their own footsteps and the occasional passing car. They share so many comfortable silences now—silences that are immensely different from the awkward ones they used to have while riding in the elevators in Sae’s palace and while driving through Mementos. 

And Akira has such a wonderfully calming presence. He’s gotten so good at reading Goro—no longer does he behave as though Goro is a bunch of broken eggshells on the floor. They’ve gotten so close—closer than anybody Goro has ever known. 

Being with Akira used to be completely terrifying all the time, as if a tsunami warning alarm were constantly going off. It would feel as though they were going to stop talking to one another all at once. Goro was petrified of being abandoned. Nothing good ever happened to him before, so why did he have any reason to believe that there was something different this time around?

He’s glad he kicked that mindset in the teeth.

There’s nothing in the world that he would trade for Akira. Goro feels so perfectly in place when he is next to him. He feels so safe when Akira puts a knowing hand on his back; he feels so at home when he wears Akira’s clothes. 

Goro feels at home. It’s strange. 

“Thank you for dinner,” he says, struggling to find the words that he wants to actually say. 

“Yeah.” Akira takes a step closer to Goro so that they can hook their arms together while they walk. “It’s kind of a thing we’ve been doing, you know? We have a schedule of who’s supposed to buy dinner depending on the day of the week.”

“Oh? Am I—am I a part of that now?”

“Probably.” Akira swings their arms. “You did only just move in today, though, so I think you’ve been given at least a week off.”

“Aha. Right. I suppose I’m a little overeager.”

“Overeager?”

Goro nods. “Mmm. To… um, prove myself, maybe? Something like that.”

“You don’t…” Akira shakes his head and sighs, “you don’t have to prove yourself to any of us, Goro. We’re all friends already.”

Goro gives no response to this. Instead he stops walking, making sure to not disconnect himself from Akira’s grip. He tries very hard to search for the right words again but otherwise stands silently, unsure what to do. 

Akira waits patiently. His eyes show concern. 

“Um, Akira,” Goro mumbles, turning to face him directly, “hello.”

Akira laughs lightly. “Hi, Goro. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Goro looks at him—he looks into those strange deep grey gunmetal eyes—and smiles. The sun has almost completely set now, and the remaining splash of sunlight curls over the backside of Akira’s body, enveloping him in a wonderful, wonderful hue. “I’m okay,” he whispers. “I love you.”

The words are out before Goro can even process them. He hasn’t said _I love you_ to anybody at all in the past twelve years of his life, perhaps more—and for so long Goro thought that the emotion was lost to him. 

Akira doesn’t waver. His face does not fall; his eyes do not darken. Instead, instead, instead, he takes one of Goro’s hands into both of his own and holds it tenderly. “I love you too,” he says, sharing the smile. . 

Goro wants to cover up his face with his hands because this, admittedly, feels like somewhat of an embarrassing moment simply because of the implied _vulnerability._ But he isn’t going to, he has decided, because that would look lame; also, Akira has nice warm hands and Goro does not.

Akira even says as much. “Your hands are super cold.”

“They’re always like that,” Goro chuckles, nervous.

“Always?”

“Yes. Sometimes I run hot water and hold my hands underneath the faucet for a minute so that they can warm up.”

“You _do?_ ”

“I usually only do that in the winter when it’s colder.” Goro uses his free hand to push up Akira’s glasses higher onto his nose. “Did I tell you that you look very good in glasses?”

“Uh huh, a time or two.”

“Well.” Goro removes his hand. “You look very good in glasses.”

“Wanna try them on?” Akira asks, already having removed his glasses by the time he finishes his sentence. He oh-so-gingerly places them on Goro’s face and then steps back, as if to admire a painting.

“Your eyesight isn’t that bad,” Goro comments. “How do I look?”

“Not like me. I think that they really suit your face, though.”

“Do they?” Goro pulls out his phone and opens up the camera to see what he looks like. He’s trying not to be vain about it, but the glasses _do_ look nice on him. 

“Yeah.” Akira snatches the phone from Goro’s hand and laughs. “Now take a picture with me!”

* * *

Akira asking to take a photo proved to be very distracting. There’s about one hundred new pictures in Goro’s camera roll—some videos, some images of grass, many photos of Akira—and it’s nearly out of battery. They do, of course, make it back to the apartment eventually, but not until the sun has completely disappeared and the sky has gone dark.

The first thing Goro does when they get back is re-heat the bento and finish eating it. Akira splits it with him because he said that he was hungry _again,_ which was helpful. Afterwards they both tidy up the stuff strewn all over the kitchen and then return to their room. _Their._

Goro still hasn’t put any of his clothes away. This is mainly because Akira’s room is an absolute mess.

“I should probably clean,” Akira says, scratching the back of his neck and looking around at his floor. 

Goro kneels down next to his box of stuff and works on ripping open the flaps. “Maybe you should consider getting rid of a couple of things. I only ever see you wearing the same seven articles of clothing.” 

“Yeah, probably. The only issue is that I keep getting more and more lazy as the days go on.”

“Haven’t college classes just started?”

“School makes me lazy! I can’t help that the minute I have responsibilities I don’t want to do anything.” Pause. “And anyway—are you planning on putting away your clothes _tonight?_ Because I’m kind of tired, and—“

“No, no, I’m not putting anything away.” Goro reaches into the box and fumbles around for a few seconds before pulling out a pair of socks. “I just wanted these.”

“Socks?” Akira raises an eyebrow. “You could have worn some of mine.”

“But I wanted these,” Goro says, standing up, socks in hand. He sits on the edge of the bed, removes his current pair of socks and replaces them with the nicer fleece pair he’s taken out. 

Akira watches, face incredulous.

They change, then, and attempt to clean up for about three minutes. This doesn’t last very long because they get extremely sidetracked with each other; one moment Goro is folding a pair of pants, and the next he is on Akira’s lap, breathless, kissing him, hands searching underneath his shirt. 

This happens every now and then, but they eventually stop and brush their teeth and get changed and lie down quietly because Ann and Ryuji are still awake. Goro can hear them—they’ve been watching a movie in another room.

Once they’re all settled in and have thoroughly tangled their legs together, Akira throws an arm around Goro and sighs. “Today was good,” he says. “So thank you.”

Goro pulls the blanket up to his chin. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. I’ve been all stressed about college stuff, so it was nice to… chill out, I guess.”

“Mmmm.”

“And I’m glad you’re moved in now,” Akira adds. “I was honestly worried that you would get cold feet and back out. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, obviously, but—”

“I was worried about that too,” Goro admits. 

“Really?”

The idea had loomed over Goro’s head the entire time he had waited to move in. He would shower and think _what if I back out?_ He would go to bed and think _what if I back out?_ He would go for walks and think _what if I back out?_ It was as if he was waiting for and anticipating that he would change his mind and choose to live in his apartment-of-misery for the rest of time.

In the end, it was nothing but a hypothetical, as are many of Goro’s thoughts. “Yes, really,” he says.

“Well… like I said, I’m glad you went through with it. Err… you bring a lot of light into my life.”

It’s things like this that always leave Goro stupidly speechless. He laughs, unsure of how to respond. 

“Sorry, was that too sappy?”

Goro shakes his head. “No, just unexpected.” 

“Oh. That’s understandable.” Pause. “It’s true, though. I think that… you’ve really helped me grow.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Goro says, voice strained. 

“And… I know that a while ago I was saying all those things about potentially never being able to forgive you. But I’ve done some thinking about all of that.”

“Thinking?”

“Yeah.” Akira closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then open them back up. “I think that for the sake of both of us, we should put it behind us entirely. I know how much grief it’s caused you—”

“Rightfully so,” Goro says, interrupting.

“—and it’s caused me a lot of grief, too. Because remember—I’m not in the clear either. We used you as part of our plan without considering the consequences.”

Goro says nothing. His eyes flick up to the ceiling, where he begins to count the glow-in-the-dark star stickers plastered all over the place.

“Um, anyway.” Akira sighs again. “I think that dwelling on it is causing more harm than good. So much has changed since then—between us and between everyone else—and it feels like letting it go and not worrying about forgiveness might be the best for both of us.”

“You’re proposing that we simply… act like nothing happened?” Goro frowns at the ceiling. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s not exactly what I’m saying. I’m saying that… we should stop actively thinking about it so much, you know? Like, acknowledgement is fine, but if we keep letting it eat at us, then…”

“Yeah,” Goro agrees. “ I know what you’re saying.”

And he’s being truthful. They have both been ruminating on The-Events-From-A-Few-Years-Ago for far too long, and it has certainly feels like it has done them more harm than good. They’re adults now—they know how to best work out their problems and will continue to learn and know how. What’s more is that they’ve discussed the past half a thousand times now.

It should be put to rest. Goro knows that it should be put to rest. 

“So… do you think we should do that?” Akira asks, nudging Goro with his elbow. 

Part of Goro wants to consider this proposition for a few more minutes, but the other version of him knows how risky of an idea that is. “Yes, I think we should do that. I think that it would probably be the best, all other options considered.”

“Truthfully, I’m not even sure what the other options would be, besides to continue feeling miserable about it all.”

“You’re right,” Goro says. He wonders, briefly, when the first time he said _you’re right_ to Akira was. Was it during a simple conversation at Leblanc? Was it in Sae’s palace? Was it just before that, when they were coming up with a plan?

He can’t remember, but it doesn’t matter. He’s getting sidetracked. “I’m glad that we can finally… resolve this, I suppose.”

“I’m not sure if it’s resolution so much as like, finally being sensible about the passage of time and stuff,” Akira says. “But in a way, I guess that it _is_ being settled.”

“You’re very smart,” Goro blurts. He blinks at himself. That wasn’t what he had meant to say.

Akira seems lost. “Huh?”

“I mean—ugh. Do you remember when I first met you?”

“Yeah, at the television studio or whatever that place was.”

“Mmm. Yes, that place. I truthfully thought that you were too naive to be smart, back then.”

Akira shifts to completely face him. The room is dark, but Goro can still see how wide with shock his eyes have gotten. “Wh—I figured you thought I was cool and intelligent because I was speaking my mind! Or something.” 

“I did, partially. It’s hard to explain. Can I tell the story?”

Akira laughs. “Sure, yeah, sorry.”

“Thank you.” Goro clears his throat. “I severely underestimated your intelligence. But I see now that in many regards, you’re much smarter than all of the Phantom Thieves combined, myself included.”

“You’re just saying that,” Akira mumbles. Goro can picture the blush on his face. 

“Would I ever give such a genuine compliment without a reason? I’m being serious, Akira. I’ve learned a lot from you. More than anybody or anything else, I think.”

“I could say the same about you, though.”

“Maybe. My sentiments remain the same regardless.”

Akira laughs, then, and Goro isn’t sure why but doesn’t mind either way. “I know,” he says. “Can we kiss now? Or should I say something heartfelt—“

“You already did,” Goro whispers, and then leans to kiss Akira. 

* * *

The next evening finds Akira, Ann, Ryuji and Goro eating dinner together again, kind of. They’re having ice cream and sitting on the puny balcony outside Ann’s room—though, truthfully, it doesn’t really count as a balcony; it’s more like a small ledge with a wall meant for one person to stand and smoke cigarettes on, but whatever. Somehow they have managed to fit all four of them on it so it doesn’t matter. 

Goro thinks about how this is something that he has never done before. He has never had ice cream for dinner—not before he met Akira, at least. He has also never had ice cream for dinner _while_ precariously sitting on the ledge of a balcony. 

The world is good, maybe. Goro would like to give life a try for real this time around. He doesn’t want to waste it. He _isn’t_ going to waste it, either, not when he’s been given ice cream and balconies and sunsets and Akira’s flannels and Ryuji laughing at his jokes and so on and so forth. For the first time ever, Goro has things that are entirely his own. 

He could not imagine giving them up. 

It’s almost as though Goro has been given a second chance. Not by Akira or the rest of the Phantom Thieves, but by himself—Goro has given himself a second chance. The playing field is no longer uneven; it is smooth and clear and has a direction, even if said direction isn’t precise yet. 

_It’ll be good to move on,_ Goro reminds himself. _This will be good._

He feels lucky, almost, but not quite. Luck has always been an _Akira_ thing, a fool thing, it hasn’t ever been something suited for Goro. Perhaps what Goro has is his years-old _true_ justice that he had previously long gave up finding. Perhaps he has been reunited with that justice. 

Whatever it is, Goro is happy to have it. He’s sick of thinking about everything so intensely—it has done nothing for him but cause more problems. He’s been misleading himself his whole life—overanalyzing everything does not lead to safety. If anything, it does the complete opposite. 

Goro digs his spoon into his ice cream and has a bite, contemplative. 

“Man, it’s gonna get cold soon,” Ryuji says, sounding utterly defeated. He’s sitting on the floor, legs pretzeled together in a manner that definitely looks uncomfortable. 

Ann frowns. “Not really. It’s not even autumn yet.”

“Yeah, but you know what I mean. Summer’s almost over! Classes have started!”

“I know what you mean,” Goro says, because he does. “I don’t like the cold.”

“That’s because your circulation sucks,” Akira replies while moving to grip Goro’s hand.

“And yet he’s eating ice cream,” Ann mumbles. Everyone pretends not to hear it. 

Ryuji, however, raises his arms in almost-triumph. “See! Goro knows what I’m talking about.”

Ann huffs in mock-frustration. “I still think that there’s plenty of time left.”

“Can we stop talking about the weather? I’m trying to eat my ice cream,” Akira says, nonsensically. Goro notes that he’s already finished eating. 

“What would you want to talk about instead?” Goro asks.

“Uh, I dunno.” Akira pauses, briefly playing around with his spoon. “Something cheesy?”

“Are you asking whether or not you can say something cheesy?” Ann raises an eyebrow. 

“I want to talk about something cheesy!” Akira affirms, holding his spoon into the air like a baton as he speaks. “So listen up.”

Everyone stops moving. 

“This, uh… this year has been a year of growth. I feel like I’ve been stuck for a while, emotionally, I guess, and… uh. Don’t laugh at me! This is too awkward.” Akira sighs and starts over. “I love you guys! I love being able to live with you all and, uh, I love being able to support you.”

“We love you too, man,” Ryuji says, trying to knock Akira on the knee but not reaching. 

“Thanks, Ryuji.” Akira smiles. “You guys… all make me a better person.”

“Me too,” Ann says. 

“Me too,” Ryuji says. 

“Me too,” Goro whispers, leaning in to kiss Akira because he can _do that_ now—he can do it almost any time that he wants!

Ann and Ryuji laugh in the background as they kiss and Goro tries not to cry. He gives up trying, though, when Akira pulls back and reveals that his eyes are full of tears. 

Goro cries and laughs and cries because he is alive for the very first time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! this is the last chapter, I wanted to put it out before the end of the year. sorry it's so sappy!
> 
> thank you so much to those that have left encouraging comments throughout the duration of this fic; this was my first time writing such a ridiculously long and extensive character study type of thing and all the kindness I have received has been incredible! 
> 
> I probably won't be writing any more p5 until I play p5r. :-) 
> 
> you can find me on twitter [here.](https://twitter.com/bloomedvillain)
> 
> thank you as always for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for general suicide ideation, mentions, and one very very brief description of one.
> 
> sorry for the very obnoxious title. thank you so much for reading!


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